


Iridium

by AndroidPalindrome



Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: Ableism, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Autism Spectrum, Blood and Gore, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Clairvoyance, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Developing Relationship, Do you think I have enough tags gais?, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fix-It, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Graphic Description of Corpses, Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, Murder, Murder Mystery, Murder-Suicide, No Incest, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Smut, Physical Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Protective Siblings, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Psychological Trauma, Psychotropic Drugs, Queerplatonic Relationships, Racebending, Racism, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sibling Love, Soul Bond, Suicide, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Torture, Visions, attempted suicide, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndroidPalindrome/pseuds/AndroidPalindrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(08/03/15 - Updated at last! Chapter 6 is now up!)</p><p>The small town of Greenvale, Washington is shaken to its core after the unusual and brutal murder of a popular and beautiful young woman. Given the similarities of the death to a string of ritualistic and bizarre serial murders, the Irregular Incidents Division of the FBI sends Special Agent Francis York Morgan and his "twin brother" Francis Zach Morgan to investigate. As the peculiar siblings and the local law enforcement trek down the rabbit hole, shadowy creatures will slip from the supernatural into reality, a sleepy little town will bare its blood-stained past, relationships will be formed, broken, and tested, and both York and Zach will have to come to terms with their personal demons and pasts if they want to have any hope of saving not only Greenvale, but the very fabric of reality itself.</p><p>A canon-rewrite tale of altered destinies, the nonexistent boundaries of fantasy and reality, embracing the unknown, self love and acceptance, and the struggle to purge things from this world that should not exist. Oh, and the power of love, no matter which form it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There Goes the Civilized World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Francis York Morgan and Francis Zach Morgan get into a car accident, discuss cartoon relationship dynamics, eat snack cakes, and pick up an early souvenir. Oh, and they also encounter an axe-wielding serial killer and a zombie from the 1950s, but this sort of thing has become typical for the two.

 

“ Look, I see where you’re coming from, but it’s totally wrong!”

 

FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan, physically 33 years of age but technically 26, was quite competent at all forms of multitasking. Currently the man was using his left hand to steer his Ford Mustang as it tore at 80 miles per hour along the sodden county highway to Greenvale, Washington. His right hand was busy pecking at a laptop perched on the lap of the sleeping occupant of the passenger’s seat, forcing the special agent to cram his cell phone between his right cheek and right shoulder in order to continue his heated debate with a colleague stationed in D.C.

 

“ Look, they both need each other—it’s called interdependency—and they both know it!” York’s speech was surprisingly articulate, despite the fact that the left corner of his mouth was clamped around a lit cigarette. “ He does horrible things to Tom—nasty, even sadistic things—but that’s okay _as long as that’s what Tom wants_. Think about it…his actions. He’s always asking for it!”

 

The laptop slid further into the lap of the slumbering passenger as they shifted and squeaked, caught in the last vestiges of a bizarre and prophetic dream. York quickly glanced over at his sleeping companion—eyes softening considerably—before returning his attention to the rainy road in front of him. He would have lowered his volume if he had been sure his partner was waking as a result, but the syrupy pulses of contentment emanating from the other half of their connection indicated an organic trek to wakefulness, so York continued yammering in his usual voice.

 

“ It’s his partner’s job to fulfill that need, and Jerry knows it.” York’s eyebrows furrowed as his conversation partner replied. “ No, it’s totally different from Megatron and Starscream—that’s just flat up abuse, plain and simple. The people that ship MegaScream are, in my opinion, the same people that look at _Fifty Shades of Grey_ as an accurate representation of consensual BDSM.”

 

Even though the cellular connection was becoming swathed with static, York was able to sift out his friend’s follow-up inquiry. “ What’s the difference? Well, in the _Tom and Jerry Show_ they live with each other—“ Just then the static was replaced with an abrupt silence. “ Hello? Hellloooooo?” Realizing that the call had dropped, York sighed in frustration, closed his flip phone with his right hand, and slipped it into the cup holder. A lazy yawn met York’s ears, causing the worry lines on his forehead to smooth and his lips to quirk.

 

“ Did your call drop again…?” The voice was soft and scratchy from a four-hour snooze.

 

“ Of course it did, way out in the countryside like this…I still can’t believe the Bureau hasn’t gotten me a satellite phone, Zach.”

 

Francis Zach Morgan, physically 26 years of age but officially 33, stretched his arms behind his head before turning his attention to the laptop. “ Seriously, York, I know you’re eager to get investigating, but studying the RSPs while driving? If a police officer pulled you over like this…and are you even wearing your seatbelt?”

 

York grinned sheepishly at his “twin brother”, clicking his seatbelt on as Zach closed his laptop and slid it onto the back seat. “ Sorry about that. I had to stop for gas an hour ago and just forgot to put it back on. In my defense, I was being distracted by the most tantalizing honey-roasted peanuts…”

 

Zach rolled his eyes, but York was easily able to detect the pulses of exasperated fondness. “ Of course you were. One day one of the criminals you’re going to be pursuing will figure out your preoccupation with good food, lure you into a restaurant, and kill you while you’re stuffing your face.”

 

“ Well, I guess it’s a good thing I have you watching my back, Zach, to guard me against gastronomical assassination.”

 

Zach’s concerned frown flitted into a soft smile, as he leaned over the cup holder to reach into the backpack wedged behind the driver’s seat. “ Always, York. No matter how much you have it coming.”

 

From a distance, one would have been pressed to tell the physical differences between the two Morgan brothers. Both were equal in terms of height (moderately tall), build (moderate shoulder width and average chest diameter), and hand and foot size (large enough, not cumbersome, yet not delicate). Both had slightly tanned skin (Zach was slightly paler, but one had to be up close to truly tell), handsome faces with notes of angularity, thick eyebrows, long noses, well-proportioned lips, full lashes, and close-cropped hair. The only truly obvious difference from a distance was hair color—York’s was brown-black and Zach’s was slightly longer and pure white.

 

It was upon close examination that one could discern the finer deviations between the two. York’s eyes were a mirthful yet guarded and distant emerald green—a look akin to a far away, cheerfully painted door outfitted with numerous deadbolts—whereas Zach possessed heterochromia iridium; his right eye was a light, crystalline blue and his left an angry-wound red. His eyes may have once booth been blue, but the deep, wide, jagged scar carving a prominent notch from the top of his left temple through his left eyelids alluded of a long ago injury serious enough to trigger its color change. When one looked into Zach’s eyes, they stared into some unspeakable anguish that never fully relinquished his stare, even at his happiest moments—a calm sea undercut by an unspeakable trauma just below the surface. Due to their apparent differences in physical age, Zach also possessed a more youthful face, as well as a heavy aura, a reserved stance, and a gaunter body, almost as if he had recently recovered from prolonged starvation. York, while physically older than his “other half”, was heartier in body, lighter in aura, calmer in presence, and far more lackadaisical in his overall movements and demeanor. He, too, had a scar on the left side of his face, albeit far more recent and far less intense than his twin’s—two thin yet pronounced parallel lines that cut horizontally across his upper left cheek.

 

Those that knew the brothers personally could also tell them apart by clothing. York, who was the only official FBI agent of the two, was required to wear suits a good majority of the time, which were notorious in the bureau for frequently venturing into “adventurous” territories in color, pattern, and/or style. Wanting to make a good impression on the small-town law enforcement officials they were due to meet in an hour’s time, York’s raiment consisted of a simple black suit, white shirt, and a thick red and thin white stripped tie, although his suitcase in the trunk was filled with his more outlandish picks of the litter. Zach, York’s personal adjutant and constant companion, was able to dress more casually, and was bedecked in blue jeans, a white button-up shirt, and a baggy dark blue sweatshirt, all of which were rumpled from sleep and hours of car travel. Being a far more “normal” dresser than York, Zach’s suitcase contained plain, solidly colored pieces of everyday and business casual garments, as well as a decent collection of 70s and 80s punk band T-shirts (which the two commonly shared).

 

Differences and similarities aside, all who saw the two together instinctually knew that the Morgans were quite a pair.

 

“ We’ll reach Greenvale in an hour, by my best estimate.” York stubbed out his waning cigarette in the car’s ash tray and reached into an inside pocket of his suit coat, withdrawing a small ziplock bag containing three small, red seeds. “ These puppies have lead us really far out into the boondocks this time.” Holding the packet up to the windshield for closer inspection (while still driving 80 miles per hour one-handed), the FBI special agent smiled ruefully. “ Oh well, either way, I’ll be a happy camper, and it’s nice to get out of the cramped city for awhile. It’s been ages since we’ve been able to get away in any way, shape, or form.”

 

“ That’s true, although I wish we actually got a decent non-work vacation instead of a pseudo vacation that’s bound to turn into a clusterfuck.” Zach opened the package of snowballs he had pulled from his backpack and passed one to York, who took it gratefully after stuffing the evidence bag back into his pocket. “ No rest for the top personnel in the Irregular Incidents Division, I suppose.”

 

A brief lull in verbal dialogue occurred as York and Zach bit into their snack cakes at the exact same time, faces showing nigh-identical expressions of contentment. Mentally, however, the conversation continued without pause.

 

**_“ Yeah, I do admit it would have been nice to have a break after that last case. It sure was something, that’s for sure. Who’d have thunk there’d be razors laced into her nails? Just crazy…”_ **

****

Zach tried his hardest to express pity and failed spectacularly. _“ Oh, toughen up, you big baby. At least I’m not the only person people will be staring at because of my scar.”_

**_“ Hate to break it to you buddy, but your scar is still the far more interesting one. Although it will give me another wild story to tell at parties.”_ **

****

_“ Truly.”_

**_“ Yes, truly.”_**  York polished off his snowball and reached into his pocket for his package of Police-brand cigarettes and lighter. **_“ I’ll open every conversation with ‘see what I got from the Catwoman wannabe’, and doctor the actual story into a grand tale of intrigue and suspense. Far more spectacular than it was in reality.”_** The federal agent chuckled verbally as he grabbed a cigarette by his teeth and slid it out of the package. **_“ Sometimes, Zach, I wonder how you get along with women so well—I’m not sure if it’s something I’m doing, but the majority of women I’ve come to know have been…well, “crazy”, for lack of a better word.”_**

****

Zach finished off his snack cake, crumpled up the packaging, and shoved it into his door’s side compartment. _“ I’d blame that less on the female gender and sex as a whole and more on the type of women you’ve made your acquaintance. They’ve either been horrible classmates, criminals you’ve pursued, or the women you’ve chosen to date…and let’s not ruin our un-vacation by discussing them.”_

“ I couldn’t agree with you more, Zach. Let’s just enjoy our quality time together in the verdant countryside of the American Northeast.” York’s words slurred slightly due to the cigarette in his mouth. He ignored the brief pang of displeasure in his chest at the mention of his former relationships and instead focused his attention on trying to get his favorite “no smoking” lighter to take. It seemed that no matter how hard he flicked it, it simply wouldn’t light, and the man was strangely worried about it having finally given out.

 

Zach frowned and grabbed the lighter from York’s hand. “Here, I’ll light it, you just focus on not driving off a cliff or something.”

 

York nodded in thanks, turned his head to face the windshield, and froze.

 

**_“ What the hell?!”_ **

****

Zach’s head snapped forward at York’s mental exclamation and surprise, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of a tall figure standing in the middle of the road, almost as if he had materialized directly in front of them in the past two seconds. The white-haired man briefly caught a glimpse of the figure’s red raincoat, lumberjack axe, and luminous yellow glare before York wrenched the steering wheel to the right, narrowly missing the apparition and sending the Ford Mustang careening off the road and into the forest below.

 

For a few moments time seemed to move in lurching skips. One moment they were right side up as York attempted to steer their uncontrollable vehicle through the thick foliage of the forest—cigarette still secure and unlit in his mouth and face furrowed in concentration—and Zach tore the sides of his seat cushion in his white-knuckled grip as he screwed his eyes shut and prayed to nameless deities for safety from front-end tree collisions. Time skipped, and the next moment they were flipping over and over after hitting a particularly muddy patch of ground. Time imperceptibly lurched a final time, and the car finally rolled to stop on its hood thanks to a convenient line of rocks. The engine was stuttering, the heady odor of gasoline wafted into their nostrils, and car’s occupants could hear short circuits coursing along the entire length of the undercarriage.

 

At times like this—when both York and Zach were panting from breath and coming down from adrenaline highs—verbal communication was considered unnecessary and closed in on “nuisance” levels. Both wasted no time in psychically patting each other down immediately after coming to a stop, reassuring each other in approximately five seconds that they were both alright, alive, and only acutely jarred (York sardonically speculating that they would ache to high hell in the morning). Another five or six seconds of deliberation later, both unbuckled their seatbelts and lowered themselves onto the now ground-level roof of the car as gently as possible. York turned off the limping engine, switched off the front lights, briefly glanced at the smashed laptop and cellphone, and kicked open the driver’s side door after noticing the handle was a crumpled mess. Zach threw open his own door (which was in slightly better condition), grabbed the emergency flashlight from the glovebox, and yanked his oversized brown canvas backpack out of the crumpled backseat. Both brothers crawled out of their totaled car, stood on shaky legs, and rendezvoused at the front end, where they gazed mournfully down at their fallen steed.

 

_“ Better the car than us. It’s just…”_

**_“ Believe me, Zach, I know. Don’t worry—I’m sure that they have a mechanic somewhere in town. For now we have to leave the old girl behind.”_ **

****

York sighed heavily and patted the wrecked car on the front bumper. “ Sorry, buddy, but we’ll have to leave you behind for now. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon enough; we’ve all been through too much together to give up on you so easily.”

 

After Zach gave his own forlorn pat to their fallen friend, he handed the spare flashlight to York, reaching into his backpack and pulling out his own before slinging it over his shoulders. The rain, now reduced to a light drizzle, had already plastered his sweatshirt and York’s coat to their torsos, but without access to their luggage in the trunk, they would just have to do without raincoats until they reached Greenvale. Zach flipped on his high-powered light and examined the nearby area, spotting a well-worn dirt path flanked by rotting wooden fences just a few paces ahead.

 

“ To be fair, our raincoat-clad friend managed to save us a bit of trouble—we should only be a twenty minute walk from Greenvale since we no longer have to take the loop in the highway.” York flicked on his flashlight and instinctively grabbed Zach’s free hand. The white-haired twin nodded, curling his fingers fondly over York’s own as a reassurance to them both. “ Come on, Zach, let’s head out.”

 

“ Roger, York.”

 

* * *

 

Five minutes down the path York and Zach discovered an old map, weathered by time and torrential downpours. After a minute of close examination, the two deduced that they were located in a distant, seldom-traversed corner of the Greenvale Nature Preserve, a relatively well-known natural park famous for its dense, arborous terrain and plentiful fishing spots. Though the map hadn’t seen a coat of paint in years, both FBI personnel were fairly confident that continuing on their present course would take them right to the edge of town, near the bridge where they were supposed to meet the sheriff of Greenvale. Not only were the two close to their destination, but York’s lighter was working again, so the brothers were in remarkably good spirits as they walked hand in hand down the path; York took point, per usual, smoking and humming absently, while Zach quietly followed a pace behind and canvased the damp and dark woods with his flashlight and stern gaze.

 

As quiet as they were externally, it was an entirely different story internally.

 

_“ That raincoat-clad figure that ran us off the road…there was not a single thing about them that seemed or felt natural. No ordinary human has eyes that shine so brightly, and their stare gave me chills all over…plus, it was odd that their face wasn’t even discernable in our headlights.”_

**_“ Agreed. I would go so far as to postulate that they deliberately forced us off the road in order to prevent us from making it to Greenvale. If I’m correct it could mean they’re linked to Anna Graham’s murder.”_ **

****

_“ If we go a step further, and go off the assumption that this case is another RSP, then they may even be one of ‘Them’. Or maybe a person that possesses some connection to ‘Them’.”_

**_“That’s certainly possible, although for the sake of the town, I sure hope that’s not the case. The Wikipedia article on Greenvale was brief, as to be expected, but from what I gather the town’s been struggling economically for the past couple of years. The last thing they need is to be infested by Shadows.”_ **

****

_“ God, the local fuzz will certainly react well to ‘Them’ if they make their presence known. However, if they do show up, we keep mum if they haven’t seen them outright. Abrahams did mention that the sheriff was rather…obstinate.”_

**_“ Ah, the stereotypical country-bred, hard-headed, small town sheriff. I would probably enjoy watching the Star Wars prequels more than dealing with a cop like that.”_ **

****

_“ And that’s saying something. Just…play nice, if you can. ”_

**_“ I do my best, Zach. I just don’t play well with others. Well, others outside of you.”_ **

****

_“ Believe me, I know. Well, I’ll give you cues if I can…although you never seem to listen to my interpersonal advice.”_

**_“ I always listen to what you’re saying, Zach. It’s just that I sometimes feel like your advice is superfluous and that I already know the correct course of action, and sometimes I just…can’t.”_ **

****

_“ Don’t worry, I get it. Just do your best, like you always do.”_

It was as they were crossing a neatly planked path over a shallow, gorge when the two detected the first signs of trouble—the sounds of wet squelching and the concurrent yelps of a dog just ahead. Both relinquished their hold on each other and peered warily down the path in front of them, their field of vision limited by the darkness and fog.

 

York grimaced, stubbed his cigarette out on a nearby post, and stuffed the remains into his portable ashtray. “ If push comes to shove, would you like to handle the meet and greet, Zach?”

 

 “ With pleasure.”

 

Both withdrew their custom FBI handguns and switched positions; Zach, being the most dexterous and best aim, lead the way, with York taking up the rear. They knew these maneuvers well—it was far from the first time they had encountered what they were expecting to be the cause of the noise.

  

The noises ceased just as they crossed an obscuring bend in the road, but the blood pooling at their feet and running in rivulets with the rainwater down the path was an easy enough indication of what had transpired. On the other side of the bend was the mangled corpse of a dog, and York—one of the keenest eyes in the FBI when it came to the observation of non-humans—immediately bent down to investigate while Zach examined the nearby area with his flashlight. The dog—a feral Doberman pinscher—had appeared to be beaten to death with a blunt object. Its head was pounded into an amorphous lump and its guts spilled out of pressure pops in its skin. Bits of broken ribs jutted out of the matted black fur.

 

“ Either a blunt weapon or fists, take your pick.” York tutted and stood. “ So much for our hopes for a peaceful picnic. Do me a favor and stay sharp, Zach. I have a bad feeling about this.”

 

“ I know, and you know I have one too. This whole situation is becoming eerily familiar, isn’t it?”

 

A few meters up ahead was pathway lined with darkened electric poles, flanked by a run-down storage shed and an electric fence, automated lock casting a runny red glow on the damp terrain.

 

“ I have a feeling that fence isn’t going to open until we restore the power somehow.” York shined his flashlight into the entryway of the doorless storage shed. “ We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that it has a generator or switch box of some kind.”

 

“ And if it doesn’t?”

 

“ Well, we’d better relearn how to climb trees. That or hope the shed has a chainsaw handy.”

 

As musty and foreboding as the shed was, it granted York and Zach a brief reprieve from the rain. The two set their flashlights on a nearby barrel while they set about wringing out their coats and taking a few seconds to collect themselves.

 

After Zach wrung as much water as he could out of his hoodie, he slipped it back on and took a look around while York was busy with his suit coat and tie. The most proximal part of the shed to the doorway was lined with rickety shelves bearing dusty cans, boxes, and containers in various states of decay. Zach took a large can off the shelf, dusted it off, and read the label. He immediately transmitted the image to York, who joined his brother in chortling.

 

**_“ I can’t believe it. Bring it over here so I can see it for myself.”_ **

****

_“ Since when did you start doubting me?”_ Zach humored York anyways, showing him the label of the can of pickles with an odd air of pride. _“ This is going in the souvenir collection.”_

**_“ Absolutely. To think there was once a brand of pickles called ‘The Pickles’. This is going on the top shelf at the apartment for sure. Who knows, it may even sell on Ebay if we get desperate.”_ **

****

_“ A can of pickles?”_

**_“ Believe me, Zach—there’s a collector for everything.”_** York threw on his coat and tamed his tie into the least wrinkled knot possible before walking over to the opposite end of the shed. Fortunately for the pair, two large generators were pressed up against the far wall. Unfortunately for them, an axe was sticking out of one of them—the result of what appeared to be the final swing of many. The afflicted generator, as a result, looked more like a pile of randomly assembled junk than a once-working machine. To the relief of the Morgans, the other generator looked both unharmed and recently used, given the lack of dust on the buttons and knobs.

 

“ The person that destroyed the generator probably left the other untouched in order to be able to leave through the path to Greenvale.” York began tapping his chest with his right index and middle fingers as he pondered over the scene. “ Then why would they destroy a generator in the first place? If they left the axe behind…of course, it must have been intended as a warning—a show a brute force to ward off any trespassers. But why?”

 

Zach had quickly gone to grab one of the flashlights during York’s questioning and was now shining it on the minced metal of the destroyed generator. “ Perhaps it has something to do with Anna Graham’s murder? That thing that ran us off the road…they had an axe like this one, didn’t they?”

 

The FBI agent’s rhythmic tapping ceased at the realization. “ So you think they ran us off the road on purpose! To warn us away from the town…and to probably get rid of us if we persisted.”

 

“ Yeah. Whoever that was, I think that they’re probably waiting up ahead with their replacement axe, just in case the car crash didn’t kill us and we called their bluff. We need to get this up and running and get the hell out of here A.S.A.P.”

 

“ I couldn’t agree with you more.” York’s face remained impassive, but Zach could feel the anxiety seeping into his aura, and his fingers were cool and pale against his palm as he grabbed the flashlight from his hands. “ I’ll get the generator going—you keep watch in case our friend decides to come looking.”

 

Zach nodded and walked towards the entrance as York began to flip switches and push buttons, muttering to himself all the while. The white-haired brother grabbed his gun, flipped the safety, and began to pace around the front of the shed, trigger finger poised and ready for the first sign of trouble. The minutes passed in an hour-esque fashion, and Zach was in the process of worrying his lower lip raw when York crowed in delight.

 

“ Jackpot, Zach! Looks like we’re in business!” The generator’s light flipped from red to green as it whirred to life, and Zach could see the street lamps outside of the shack flick on, washing the muddy path in dim light. Zach grinned, holstered his gun, and used his free hand to fling the spare flashlight at York, who snatched it with a flourish. “ Now, let’s get moving and get the hell out of dod—“

 

Zach’s skin prickled as he felt a hand clamp around his right ankle.

 

“ **Zach, behind you!”**

As York and Zach had been celebrating their imminent escape from the woods, a thick, viscous black substance had pooled behind the white-haired twin’s feet. Before the two could react, a dirt-splattered, milk white had risen out of the black, grabbed Zach’s ankle, and pulled his foot out from under him with an abnormally strong yank. As Zach tumbled to the ground and York drew his gun, the rest of the being slid itself out of the miasma, and the sight of the creature made the brothers pale simultaneously.

 

This was not the first Shadow that Zach and York had encountered; on the contrary, the creatures they had first encountered on the day of the Schism (and in fact—they had both surmised—possibly one of the reasons _for_ said Schism) had plagued them on every RSP incident ever since. Given the gelatinous, foreboding atmosphere and the suspected RSP in the town just a few kilometers away, the Morgans had been nearly positive that their “old friends” would be making an appearance. However, in their previous occurrences, the Shadows had taken the forms of animals (birds, dogs, feral large cats) and plant-like monstrosities (which inevitably lead to an impromptu _Little Shop of Horrors_ viewing and three am diner analysis immediately after _that_ particular case). What the Shadows had never been before, those, was human.

 

Until now. The otherworldly menace that emerged from the black pit was, in almost every single aspect, the spitting image of a 1950s American housewife. The slender woman’s skin was a surreal alabaster color and dotted with bloodless gashes, her thick cropped hair was dripping with some sort of tree-rot scented ichor, and her floral print dress and white waist apron were caked with slime and dirt, but aside from the abnormally jerky movements she was making, it almost appeared to the brothers as if she had simply gotten lost on her way to a Halloween party (even though it was early June).

 

Well, that image was shattered as she unsteadily rose to her feet, teetered precariously, and snapped her head and body forward until she was face to face with Zach, who had managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Her face was now visible in the light of York’s flashlight, revealing its gaping, eyeless sockets and dark gash of a mouth for both to see.

 

**_“ Kiiiiiiiiiill yoooooouuuuuuuu…”_ **

****

In the blink of an eye, the Shadow had one hand gripping Zach’s shirt collar and the other shoved down his throat.

 

_“ Oh God, oh God, oh God, York…!!”_

Zach’s petrified mental shrieking—as well as the potent waves of revulsion he was concurrently emitting—finally snapped York out of his trance and into action. Initially, the FBI Special Agent had felt extremely reluctant to shoot an unarmed woman, even if she was a decomposing zombie with a toothless gate to hell of a mouth. Zach’s distress, however, was the only force in the universe that could override all of York’s other concerns; as Zach futilely tried to shove the monster off of him as he choked and gagged, York drew his custom FBI handgun, aimed, and emptied the entire clip into the Shadow without delay or remorse.

 

The Shadow immediately released Zach and stumbled backward, its arm launching out of Zach’s mouth to the sound of a few cracks of manhandled esophageal cartilage. The female shaped specter was now spurting a great quantity of tarry liquid out of its numerous bulletholes, and a split second later, the creature—with a physically impossible spasm and a lonely wail—collapsed and melted into the ground, disappearing in a plume of violet smoke.

 

Threat neutralized, York immediately dropped his gun and sprinted over to Zach, who was kneeling on the ground and clutching his throat.

 

“ Zach, are you alright?!” York’s voice had a seldom-heard thread of panic as he knelt next to his coughing, retching twin.

 

Zach was too busy trying not to vomit to answer York verbally, and even his mental presence was strained and shuddery.

 

_“ I…I’ll be okay. It’ll probably sting a little to eat for a few days, though. And…oh God…oh God I don’t feel so good.”_

Without warning, Zach began to retch, vomiting up whatever food remained in his stomach mixed with a worrying quantity of the same black substance that had poured from the Shadow’s wounds. Forcing his anxiety and faint self-hatred deep into the corners of the White Room, York rubbed his brother’s back and made soft shushing noises until the “younger” man’s gagging finally stopped.

 

“ What…what the fuck was that?” Zach gratefully collapsed into York’s waiting arms, momentarily too exhausted to keep himself upright. York was content to let his brother rest until his shuddering subsided and focused his efforts on supporting him with one hand and cleaning off his teary eyes and mouth with a damp tissue from his suit pocket. “ We’ve been in some crazy situations before, but that one…”

 

“ Yeah, that one takes the cake.” York threw the tissue somewhere behind him and began to stroke the other man’s hair. “ It’s the first time we’ve been attacked so directly _and_ so early. And that attack…what on Earth was it trying to do to you?”

 

“ It felt like…it almost felt like it was trying to climb inside of me. I swear that I could feel the tips of its fingers entering my stomach by the time you got her off of me, and that was pretty fast.” Zach’s voice was scratchy and weak, but at least he had stopped shaking and was regaining some of his already lackluster coloring. “ Thanks, by the way.”

 

“ No need, just doing my job. Anyway, I waited to long to take action. If I had been a moment later….” As carefully as York reigned in his emotions 24/7—even with him—it didn’t take a telepathic connection for Zach to see the guilt in his eyes, and he quickly extracted himself from York’s protective hold, determined to show that he was alright.

 

“ Don’t blame yourself for that—I had plenty of time to shoot her myself. We just weren’t expecting the Shadows to look like humans all of the sudden.” Zach cautiously staggered to his feet and reached out a hand to help York up, who took it with a relieved smile. “ We’ve worked nearly forty RSPs, and we’ve never encountered a Shadow that looked like a human being. And her clothing…I’m not expecting them to have fashion sense, but it was really dated. Almost as if she was locked in time…”

 

York brushed off his pants and grabbed his gun while Zach retrieved his own flashlight from the barrel and—to the black-haired twin’s great amusement—“The Pickles”, which he shoved into his enormous rucksack. “ Perhaps she was trying to force herself back into time through your body.” He began to tap his fingers against his chest, not realizing at the time how close his lighthearted theory was to the truth. “ Do you have any idea what that was all about, Zach?”

 

 Zach’s eyebrows furrowed in consternation, and York finally chuckled, walking over to him and taking his hand once again. “ Never mind, don’t answer; I have a feeling we’ll be finding out soon enough. Besides, life is fun because of the mysteries.”

 

“ Sometimes your definition of fun eludes me.” Zach’s words were less horse and far drier. “ Let’s just get the fuck out of this forest before we have even more fun. And by we, I mean my throat.”

 

* * *

 

With that, the Morgans exited the shed and began their torrential trek through the now unlocked electronic gate and down another set of muddy trails and stain-stripped walkways, thankfully not encountering any more Shadows—humanoid or otherwise. The rift between worlds apparently resealed in the nick of time, York relaxed and began to whistle as the tree cover thinned, pausing in his mirth only to collect a few samples of a familiar yet strange red vine that had seemingly sprung up under Zach’s feet and coated the final stretch of trail in a carpet of odorless scarlet. Even though Zach was sore, exhausted, and damp in places that had probably been dry ever since leaving his mother’s womb, York’s hopeful enthusiasm was contagious, and when they finally emerged through another electronic gate (which was swiftly sealed behind them by a spontaneously-germinating wall of red ivy, barricading them again any possible pursuing monsters) and saw not only the highway, but the friendly “Welcome to Greenvale” road sign, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

 

_Finally! Our warm, dry hotel room awaits._

Squeezing each other’s hands, the Morgan twins began to trot in sync towards the river-spanning bridge to the sleepy Washington town, unaware of the fact that once they entered the Greenvale, they would never be able to truly leave, nor would they want to.


	2. Welcome to Greenvale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zach and York meet Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt and Sheriff George Woodman. York and Emily bond over superhero movies, Zach and George begin the most passive-aggressive relationship known to humankind, and they'll just have to get to the murder investigation tomorrow, because it's been a very long day already.

26-year-old Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt had to admit that waiting in her car on the bridge for the two FBI personnel was far from the worst thing she could do with her time. Yeah, their two hours of lateness was both extraordinarily annoying and concerning, and given the way Sheriff George Woodman had gone to personally search for the two, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want Greenvale to deal with the stigma of both a cult-esque murder and the untimely disappearance of a couple of federal agents. However, she was at least snug and dry in her jeep, and the fact that she brought her laptop (with portable wi-fi spot) meant that she had been able to spend the past couple hours watching the first six hours of her latest recommended anime, _Gatchaman Crowds._ So at least this whole FBI debacle wasn’t a waste of her time.

 

Emily had just closed Crunchyroll (and begun contemplating where to order a Rui Ninomiya action figure) when something on the far end of the bridge caught her eye. Eyes widening in disbelief and chin dropping, she shut off her laptop, slid it back into its bag, and jumped out of the car, jogging towards the two figures beginning their trek across the bridge and into town.

 

Noticing her approach, the man in the soggy dark business suit with black hair waved at her with his free hand. The other hand was entwined with the hand of the other figure—a similar-looking man with stark white hair, wearing a waterlogged hoodie and jeans, and carrying a gigantic brown backpack. The black-haired twin gave a tug to the white-haired twin, increasing their pace minutely. Emily didn’t mind the lack of rush, since the white-haired man’s footsteps were dragging heavily with exhaustion. At this point Emily suspected that their drive into town had not gone according to plan, and somewhere up the road was a wrecked, broken down, or overturned car missing its owners. She had been telling George for years that they had to install safety lighting along the winding, shoulder-less roads into town, but each time he only brushed her off, with the occasional murmur of her sounding “too much like that old coot, Harry”. Well, George was now busy combing the forest park as a direct result of his hubris, and Emily was in no mood to immediately notify him of her discovery.

 

Stopping a few feet in front of the men, she rested her right hand on her hip and managed a small smile.

 

“ Now you two are very late. I didn’t think you would keep me waiting in the rain for so long.”

 

The white-haired twin (who Emily noticed had two differently colored eyes and a _hell_ of a facial scar; seriously, was he attacked by an axe murderer in his youth?) grinned sheepishly (at least one of them got the joke) while the dark-haired twin reached into his suit, pulled out a badge, and flashed it in front of her face.

 

“ FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Please, just call me York. That’s what everyone else calls me.” Emily jerked her head backwards, blinking owlishly at the sudden intrusion to her face’s personal space.

 

“ Agent…Agent York?”

 

“ Good. That’s good.” York quickly removed his hand from the proximity of Emily’s face (to her immense relief) and shoved his badge back in his suit pocket, staring at her inscrutably with rather attractive green eyes, in her honest opinion. The white-haired twin sighed audibly at York’s greeting and smiled at Emily apologetically.

 

“ Sorry. We’ve had…a very long trip. We got into an accident out by mile marker seventy-five and had to cut through the forest on foot. I’m Francis Zach Morgan, his assistant and attaché; I have all the paperwork in my bag.”

 

Emily’s eyebrows rose. “ You both have the same first name?”

 

“ We’re twins. Our…our parents thought it was appropriate.” Zach’s heterochromatic gaze grew heavy and thick. “ People just call us by our middle names, so you can call me Zach. No “agent” necessary, obviously.”

 

Zach broke out into a minor coughing fit as he finished his sentence, rubbing his throat with his free hand. Both Emily and York gazed at him worriedly.

 

“ Are you alright, Mr. Mor—Zach?”

 

“ We ran into some trouble in the woods.” The black-haired brother rubbed his thumb on the back of Zach’s hand soothingly, causing Emily’s face to soften. His nails were bitten to the quick. “ Some sort of…creature attacked us on the way over.”

 

“ A…creature?”

 

“ Yeah, something we can’t really describe. I managed to…scare it off, but it attacked Zach and ended up compressing his throat. He’s a little sore and raw.”

 

Emily began mentally kicking herself. What the hell was she thinking? She was Deputy Sheriff, for Christ’s sake—as soon as she heard the two were in a car accident, she should have asked about any injuries. Stupid, stupid! “ Animal attacks are rare around this part, but we do have a few large predators in the forest. Bears, cougars, pumas…we’ve been telling Jim Green for years to install safety fences along the trails, but he’s brushed us off every time. This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

 

“ Jim Green?” At the hoarseness of Zach’s voice, Emily began to walk back towards her Jeep, beckoning them to follow.

 

“ Yeah, he’s the groundskeeper of the park. The visitors we get each year to the park are the only steady economy we have left in this town. Do either of you need to go to the hospital? We have one right in town, and with the animal attack and the car accident…”

 

“ Thank you for your concern, Sheriff”, Zach’s smile was easy compared to his dragging steps as the two walked a bit behind her, “but I’ll be fine with some rest and lozenges. There’s no blood or anything like that. And the car wreck just shook us up, although all our belongings are still in the car.”

 

“ Sheriff? Oh, oh no, that’s George Woodman. I’m Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt. He’s actually out looking for you…somewhere in the park, I would assume.” She glanced back at the boys and winked reassuringly, causing Zach to flush and York to blink in surprise. “ At the very least you two can rest in the Jeep while I call George and find out where to go from here.”

 

“ Ah…much obliged, Deputy Wyatt. Zach here could use a rest.” Zach frowned at his brother’s words and elbowed him weakly in the ribs.

 

“ I’m fine, York, just tired.”

 

“ Zach, you’re dragging your feet and hacking, and I can actually feel your hand beginning to shake. Just drop the bravado in front of the local fuzz and take it easy for a bit, please? For me?”

 

Emily’s jaw dropped slightly at the audacity of York’s language, yet the barely visible worry creasing his brow prevented her from being _too_ put off. “ Yeah, with all due respect, you look a little shaky. I don’t blame you—if I had a mountain lion crush my throat after getting into a car accident, I would want to lie down myself.”

 

Zach closed his eyes and sagged in defeat, and for the first time Emily noticed how subtly emaciated he was compared to York. “ Fine, fine, a mountain lion, right.”

 

Emily threw open the back door of the Jeep as soon as they reached it and slid into the front seat herself, turning the key in the ignition just enough to activate the police radio and turn on the heat (even though it was early summer, the rainstorms were always a bit chilly, and those two were soaked to the bone).

 

“—mily, Emily come in! Are you there?” George’s crackly voice immediately met her ears. The blonde deputy groaned in trepidation and grabbed the hand mike.

 

“ I’m here, George, and I found them both. Apparently they got into a car accident around mile marker seventy-five and had to walk the rest of the way here. We’re waiting by the north bridge entrance.”

 

“ A car accident? Well this is off to a better start than I had hoped.” The tension and sarcasm in George’s voice reminded Emily to warn Agent York about her boss’…”displeasure” over their presence in town. “ Just wait there for me, because I don’t want to run around kingdom come to find you all again. I’m way out on the other side of town; I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

 

“ Roger, we’ll be waiting. Emily out.” Emily hung up the radio and ran her hands through her short blonde hair.

 

“ He doesn’t sound very pleased with us, does he?”

 

“ Ack!!” Emily jumped, right hand instinctively going to her holster as she spun towards the open door. Agent York, who had apparently been listening in to the conversation, stumbled backward and raised his hands defensively. “ Jesus Christ, you scared me!” Emily slumped in her seat and let her hand fall away from her sidearm. “ It’s not your fault, but don’t do that again; I don’t want my first interaction with the FBI to consist of accidently shooting a Special Agent for sneaking up on me.”

 

“ I apologize, Emily. I was simply waiting to ask you if you could pop your trunk for me.”

 

“ Pop my…oh, um…sure.” Normally Emily would have asked a few questions, but the disarming way he called her “Emily” (which didn’t offend her as much as it should have; she could tell—given his instructions to call him York—that it wasn’t seeded in sexism or disrespect) and the abrupt shift in conversation left her stymied and slightly more acquiescent than usual. Agent York flashed her a thankful smile—mildly off-putting, but friendly enough, with soft lips and straight white teeth—and strode towards the back of the car as she reached for the lever under her seat and gave it a tug.

 

“ May I ask what you need with my trunk, Agent York?” Emily had initially assumed that he was going to shove Zach’s rucksack in the back, but as she slid from her seat and closed the door, she saw he was pulling out several of her emergency blankets.

 

“ Agent York, what are you—“

 

“ Shhh!” York shoved the blankets under his arm and raised a finger to his lips, causing Emily to reflexively shut her mouth. The blue-eyed woman watched as he delicately closed her trunk and walked to the still-open backseat door.

 

“ The Sheriff said he’d be here in thirty minutes, right? I’d like it if Zach was able to sleep until then.” Emily crept forward and saw Zach passed out in the backseat in spite of his earlier protests, head shoved in the crack between the car door and the headrest, right arm draped around the backpack on the middle seat.

 

Now realizing what Agent York was going to do, the young deputy watched with interest as he gently reached over his brother, repositioned his right arm to rest on his lap, and maneuvered the backpack onto the floor. The most difficult task completed, York draped two of the blankets over Zach and began folding the thickest one into a fat rectangle. The soft smile on his face and deliberate movements were near echoes of Emily’s own mother, and she had to hold back tears as she remembered her mother’s cool, comforting hands—a sensation she had not felt since her death from cancer during her senior year of high school. Despite being initially off-put at the agent’s abrupt manner, blunt frankness, and impassive gaze (at least towards her), she couldn’t suppress the wave of tenderness directed at him as he gently lifted Zach’s head and placed the makeshift pillow between it and the seat. The white-haired man moaned in contentment and briefly turned into his brother’s hand, which lingered briefly over his cheek as it pulled away. At that moment Emily was certain that, while Special Agent Francis York Morgan may indeed be off-putting in numerous ways, he didn’t have a callous or cruel bone in his body. In Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt’s book, that fact counted for quite a bit.

 

“ Don’t you want to rest yourself?” She whispered as York closed the back door as quietly as humanly possible.

 

“ No, I don’t want the sheriff’s first impression of me to be lights out in the backseat of your car, as comfortable and desirable as Zach makes it look.” York turned his attention back to her, the shutters in his eyes closing off all sight of their previous affection, leaving only distance. “ Especially since he sounded particularly cross with us for our lateness, although it was hardly our fault.” He moved to sit on the sidewalk crossing the bridge, and after a moment’s hesitation Emily moved to join him, gradually coming to realize that she would have to be the proactive one in this relationship—whatever it was.

 

“ May I ask what caused your accident?” She was careful to place two feet of space between them, and to her great surprise York flashed her a grateful smile before fishing out a package of cigarettes.

 

“ I just swerved to avoid something in the road and ended up driving off the highway and flipping the car. I’m just glad we weren’t hurt; as much as we love our car, it can always be repaired or replaced. There are many other things in this life that can’t be.”

 

Emily nodded, filing away the fact that York did not mention what exactly he was avoiding on the road. “ Believe me, I learned that younger than most.” York paused in tugging out a cigarette with his teeth to gaze at her quizzically, and she shrugged. “ My mom died when I was 18 years old, right before high school. Cancer.”

 

Something indescribable flickered in York’s eyes—was it shock? Surprise? Sympathy? “ I’m sorry for your loss. Looks like we have something in common.”

 

“ We?”

 

York exchanged the package of cigarettes for the lighter in her pocket, and Emily couldn’t help but snort at the sight of the “no smoking” sign on the lid. “ Zach’s…our parents died when we were young. We were seven. Zach took it the worst.”

 

Emily’s stomach bottomed out. She had at least been on the way to adulthood when her mother passed away; the Morgans, on the other hand, were only babies. “ God, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it was for the both of you…”

 

“ It’s alright. We survived and are both relatively happy and healthy. It’s better to move on from the past than to stay mired in it.”

 

Emily remained silent as York lit his cigarette with a flourish, her sadness undercut with a current of annoyance at him smoking in front of her without asking for permission. He didn’t need it, sure, but it was common consideration! “ Agreed. Let’s change the subject before we both become depressed.”

 

“ A fine suggestion, Emily.” York took a long drag on his cigarette, causing the tension Emily had not previously noticed to fall away, leaving his posture slightly slumped and neck soft. He blew out the smoke as he scanned the area (away from Emily, although she was not sure if it was from awareness or random chance), and after a moment his eyes fell on her vanity plate.

 

“ ILOVMOV…” York spun to face Emily with something akin to hope in his expression. “ Does that stand for “I love movies”?”

 

“ Yep. In fact, I got a film studies minor at Washington State. I must say I’m impressed that you got it; I have to explain it to most folks.”

 

“ What’s your favorite movie?”

 

Emily didn’t even have to bat an eyelash, since seeing it for the first time at age twelve was what inspired her to go into law enforcement in the first place. “ _Twelve Angry Men_ , the original version with Henry Fonda—“

 

“—made in 1957.” York snapped his fingers, and just like that, the shudders flew open, revealing the excited gleam of a kid left alone in a candy store with unlimited funds. “ Directed by Sidney Lumet and written and produced by the original playwright, Reginald Rose.”

 

Emily began to feel excited herself, and she was unable to suppress her own delighted grin. “ Well I’ll be, Agent York—it seems you’re a bit of a cinephile yourself.”

 

“I actually minored in film, just like you. Georgetown University. Everyone found it odd that a criminal psychology major was taking all the film courses, but that may have been jealousy over the fact that I always got the top marks in all of the classes.”

 

“ Same here. I was a criminal justice major and the hipsters couldn’t fathom why a “sexy pig” such as myself always got As.” Emily scooted minutely closer, and to her great surprise, York did the same. “ So, what’s your favorite film, Mr. FBI?”

 

York, like her, didn’t miss a beat, even as he stubbed out his cigarette on the pavement and disposed of the remains in a portable silver ashtray. “ _Ladyhawke_ , 1985, directed by—“

 

“—Richard Donner. Produced by Richard Donner, his wife Lauren Shuler, and Harvey Bernhard.” Emily didn’t know when the surprises would stop, and York himself looked far from displeased at this turn of events.

 

“ Amazing…when I tell most people that’s my favorite movie, they either don’t know what I’m talking about or call me some derogatory term related to homosexuality. Which I personally don’t understand; I think there’s something about _Ladyhawke_ that allows it to appeal to all types of people, no matter how traditionally masculine or feminine they are.”

 

“ Hell yeah! Mom and I always watched that movie together when dad worked late—she was fond of it because Dad had taken her to see it on opening night as an anniversary present—and I really loved both the action sequences and the love story. Plus, I have to admit I had a thing for Matthew Broderick when I was younger.”

 

“ Nothing to be ashamed about there. He certainly had his own youthful charm back then. I used to have a major crush on both Molly Ringwald and Harrison Ford when I was a kid.” York was now grinning and gazing at Emily as if she was the center of the universe, and for the first time she found herself comfortable with the attention. Emily was not the most gorgeous woman in the world, but she possessed so many aspects of stereotypical white American beauty (soft blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes, a slim physique that never showed muscle, no matter how much she bench pressed) that she was more than used to the male gaze. For the first time in Emily’s life, a man who was apparently attracted to women (and men, but Emily herself had a few girl crushes that ventured beyond the platonic, so the more at the bisexual/pansexual party, the better) was interested in her for something other than her looks. She wasn’t sure if York was looking at her in _that_ way, but his eyes were full of vivacity and intellectual curiosity all the same, and my goodness he had lovely eyelashes—long, black, and thick.

 

Not that she cared. Of course not.

 

“ I’ll freely admit that the love story appealed to me more than anything else”, York ploughed on, oblivious to Emily’s embarrassing contemplations. “ The two lovers cursed to be apart for an eternity. The woman a hawk in the day, and the man a wolf at night, never again to meet as two human beings…to ever speak to each other face to face, to embrace or kiss. It…”

 

“ It what?”

 

“…I suppose I related to them, to a point.” York abruptly turned away from Emily, who decided that she’d rather keep up a good rapport with Agent York than attempt to satiate her rather intense curiosity (how on Earth could he possibly relate to the couple in _Ladyhawke?),_ and thus immediately dropped the subject.

 

“ Hey, I have a thermos of coffee in the car that I brought from the office. Want to share some with me while we wait?”

 

York once again looked at her with delight, his previous discomfort slipping away. “ You said the magic words, Emily. I’m _always_ up for coffee. Do you happen to have any cream or milk?”

 

“ I’ll see what I have in my glovebox. Anything for a man that freely admits to enjoying love stories.”

 

* * *

 

It turned out that York loved every single one of Richard Donner’s movies. It had taken some gentle pressing, but he had eventually admitted that he enjoyed the first two Superman movies more than the first two movies of the original _Star Wars_ trilogy. Emily couldn’t help laughing at that (fortunately it didn’t seem to upset Agent York too much, although she could have sworn seeing the tips of his ears flush pink) because what normal human being thinks that the Superman movies are better than the original _Star Wars_? Emily had to admit that her growing suspicion was that York was far from a “normal” person in many ways, but rather than being put off, she was only more intrigued by this green-eyed, awkwardly smiling man. To be honest, she wasn’t exactly “normal” herself, which she illustrated by following York’s confession with one of her own—that one of her favorite movies of all time was _Supergirl_ , in all its poorly produced, storyboard hodgepodge glory. York did snort at that, but admitted that he too felt that _Supergirl_ had its fair share of charms in spite of its faults, and it was still was notable as one of the few female superhero movies ever made. Emily relaxed visibly at his words, relieved that he wasn’t going to be yet another film snob deriding her over her “girl power” blinders, and decided that she would leave the movie poster up in her living room when he came over. Well, if he ever came over, which he probably wouldn’t, but as Emily’s mother once said, “you never know what right hooks life will throw at you next, so best to keep your forearms up.” The next twenty minutes consisted of a heated debate concerning the scant few superheroine movies in existence—what they did right, what went wrong, and why the hell hadn’t they made a Wonder Woman or Black Widow film yet, seriously?

 

By the time Sheriff George Woodman arrived at the scene, the two law enforcement officials were on their third cup of coffee each and pondering whether or not the Arabic, Muslim incarnation of Miss Marvel would ever claim a place in the Marvel movie series, and why DC hadn’t cast a black actor to play Green Lantern. At the sight and sound of the dark brown range rover cruising towards them from the town proper, Emily hurriedly rose to her feet and capped the thermos. York polished off his drink and handed the portable plastic cup back to her, which she took with her own and stashed them, along with the thermos, on the floor of the shotgun seat (by means of the now open window on the driver’s side—she hadn’t wanted to wake Zach up). As Emily brushed off her pants and York shoved a handful of empty containers of Emily’s hoarded fast food creamer into his pocket, the all-terrain vehicle came to a stop besides Emily’s, and out stepped Sheriff George Woodman in the flesh.

 

Emily couldn’t help but study Agent York, eager to see his reaction to her long-time boss. She knew George was quite imposing, in and out of uniform, despite being in his late forties. He was fairly tall, stocky, and layered with dense bands of muscle that he worked with utmost diligence to cultivate every day for an hour and a half. Atop his thick neck rested a broad, chiseled, creased face, topped off with a short mullet of thick brown hair, stern brown eyes, a thick handlebar mustache, and a massive chunk of skin forever absent from his left cheek due to a “childhood accident”. Clad in his uniform of blue jeans, work boots, black leather jacket, and black Stetson, he looked more like a seasoned rancher from the hills of Montana than a sheriff of a withering town in the Pacific Northwest. The golden sheriff’s badge on his jacket gleamed ominously in the sunset as he strode over to the two, mouth and eyes hard and fixated on their newest arrival.

 

“ Welcome to Greenvale. I’m the sheriff, George Woodman—call me George.”

 

If York was at all even minutely taken aback by George’s gruff demeanor, he gave no visible sign of it, and his face and eyes were steady and guarded as he took out his badge and flashed it in front of George’s face.

 

“ FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Please, just call me York, that’s what everyone calls me.” Unlike Emily, George barely twitched at the popping of his personal bubble, and after a second York returned the badge to his suit pocket.

 

“ I thought you had an assistant coming along with you.”

 

“ Yes, my brother, Zach—he’s resting in Emily’s car.”

 

“ They were in a car accident out by mile marker seventy-five, and Zach was attacked by some kind of wild animal, so he’s resting in my Jeep.” Emily interjected, coming to stand in-between the two men. “ It’s not serious enough for a hospital visit, but he was pretty shaken up.”

 

York nodded, eyes never leaving George’s face. The Sheriff’s face grew even stonier.

 

“ Only a few hours in town and already causing a ruckus.” He began to pace between Emily and York. “ Could you tell me why the FBI is so interested in a small-town homicide?”

 

“ Let’s just say it’s a personal interest in killers of young women.” Emily flashed back to Anna’s body, swathed in red velvet and crucified on the tree with thorny brambles, and barely managed to keep from gagging. York—either oblivious to or blatantly ignoring her discomfort—pushed on. “ I’m always looking for new sample cases to help me with my profiling. Plus, the division of the Bureau I’m affiliated with—the Irregular Incidents Division—is interested any possible religious or cultic influence, given the way Ms. Graham’s body was found. “

 

The elite agent glanced towards Emily’s Jeep, nodded as if in response to an unheard question, and turned back to George. “ Both our superiors have cleared this with each other, and you can remain in command. You don’t have a problem with this, do you?”

 

George’s eyes darted from side to side. “ No, no problem. Just wanted to set things straight.” The small-town sheriff began circling York as he talked, and Emily secretly admired how Agent York was seemingly unaffected by her boss’ hostile affect, merely lighting up another cigarette with a far-away look in his eyes. “ Our small town has its fair share of problems, and I’m the one fixing them one by one, and maintaining peace and order. You can have your profiling sample, but I need you to understand that.”

 

Emily crossed her arms. _So what are I and the other officers? Chopped liver?_ She kept her mouth shut, though, not wanting to make the situation even tenser. She knew George was just as shaken and on-edge as she was and trying to maintain his control over the situation—which, so far, York seemed willing to accept…although Emily was unsure of whether or not the way the agent “accidentally” blew smoke in George’s face as he turned around to meet him was some form of retort or a result of his patently appalling social skills.

 

“ Of course, of course.” York nodded as George coughed and fanned his hands in front of his face (even Emily was coughing in protest, not used to any type of smoke outside of wood and diesel). “ By the way, George, as Deputy Emily has already informed you, I had a little “accident” with our car on the way over. Do you think you could send someone to take care of it, as well as fish our belongings out of the trunk?”

 

George mulled over the problem for a few moments. “ Alright, don’t worry, I can call up Lysander and send him out with a tow truck to get your car. My assistant, Thomas, can ride with him, get your luggage, and bring it to the hotel where you’ll be staying. Is that acceptable?”

 

York once again glanced at Emily’s car, and the deputy couldn’t help but wonder if he was more concerned about Zach than he was letting on. “ That’s perfect. Thank you, George. Zach’s also grateful for your assistance.” Emily and George blinked in confusion, which York again failed to pick up on, taking another long drag of his cigarette. “ For now, that’s all we need. Well, then, I think Zach and I should go to the hotel and rest up, and tomorrow we’ll join you on the investigat—“

 

“ Don’t know how to say this”, George cut in, “but we _really_ don’t need your help. Unlike some of your corrupt, _city_ police officers, I play it by the book.” Emily mentally changed the “I” to “we”. “ I hope you’ll come to appreciate that…Agent _Morgan._ ”

 

Emily swiveled her head at George in alarm, completely taken aback by his acute hostility. Even York hesitated, cigarette halfway to his lips, before narrowing his eyes and rotating to stare at George, who had wandered over to the railing and was gazing out at the russet sun and rain-swollen river. “ You two just think of this as a vacation. Take it easy and enjoy the nature here. You don’t have to be a tree worshiper to appreciate the wildlife here.“

 

“Excuse me, Sheriff _Woodman_ , but you certainly seem opposed to our participation in your investigation. Care to explain why?”

 

Emily choked and leapt backwards in alarm, scared witless for the second time in an hour. York, on the other hand, was unfazed save for brighter eyes, smoothly disposing of his half-finished cigarette as Zach—hair sleep-tussled and clothing wrinkled—approached the group, having apparently woken up and gotten out of the car without anyone noticing. As Emily’s heart rate began to calm, she vowed to do a Google search on the FBI’s stealth training as soon as she got home.

 

George turned to face the newcomer, caught completely unawares. “ You are—“

 

“ Francis Zach Morgan, attaché and personal assistant to my twin brother. You can call me Zach, if your wounded pride allows it. Now, again, would you please explain your hostility to York’s presence?” Emily and York were both gobsmacked and could only watch as George clenched his fists, set his mouth in a line, and thudded closer to the white-haired man.

 

“ As I said earlier, since you were obviously eavesdropping, we really don’t need your help.”

 

“ Well, if your superior had agreed with you, she wouldn’t have allowed us to join in, would she? Obviously she believes our presence would be beneficial to the investigation.” Zach’s voice was soft and steely, and his eyes held a look that Emily had only seen before in angry parents and predators guarding their young. “ As York said, we’re only here to observe and learn from Ms. Graham’s death, so I find your hostility towards my twin uncalled for and…concerning.

 

It was at that moment Emily Wyatt learned that Zach was just as protective of York as the other was of him.

 

“ Just _what_ are you insinuating, Mr. Morgan?”

 

“ I’m just saying it’s suspicious that you’re so antagonistic about any outside influences in the case.”

 

“ Are you honestly insinuating that—?!”

 

“—that your behavior is extremely suspicious and—combined with your disrespect towards York—makes you look like you have something to hide? You read my mind, Sheriff Woodman.”

 

George actually _snarled_ and thundered forward, but as Emily moved come between the two before her boss did something that would most likely get him fired at the least, York’s hand shot out and gripped Zach’s shoulder.

 

“ Zach, that’s enough.” York’s voice was gentle yet commanding. George faltered in his intent, giving Emily enough time to put her hands on his chest in deferment. “ I don’t mind George calling me Agent Morgan, although it’s not high on my list of favorite titles. And while you’re correct at George’s extreme reluctance being off-putting, I highly doubt that it stems from anything but the strain of having to deal with a murder case and federal presence at the same time.”

 

George blinked a few times as he slowly came to the realization that Agent York was giving him an out. “ That’s absolutely right. Everyone in this town has been thrown through a loop with this, and you two coming here only adds to my worries.” With a fluid motion he had removed his cowboy had and was wiping the sweat off his brow with a jacket sleeve. “ I…I will apologize, though, for taking out my anxiety on Agent Morgan. I meant no disrespect or disdain.”

 

Zach glanced back and forth between George and York a few times before relaxing and placing a hand atop York’s own on his shoulder, accepting the offered armistice. “ I…also apologize for my behavior. It’s just…it’s been a very long day, and I’m extremely tired and sore, which—as York would tell you—shortens my temper to a point.”

 

“ A needle point, really.” York gave Zach’s hand a squeeze before letting them both drop. “ Zach and I fully intend to let you have full control over the investigation, George. Unless called for otherwise, we will only be observers, and will do our best to not step on your toes.”

 

George replaced his hat and scrutinized them both before nodding. “ Very well. It’s been a long day for all of us, and I still have a lot of work to do, including taking care of your car. Emily, how about you drive them to the hotel while I make the necessary arrangements, and then we all can meet at the Sheriff’s Department tomorrow morning.”

 

Emily, who had been busy admiring York for his unexpected aptitude at diffusing the situation, shook herself out of her reverie. “ You’ve got it. I’ll drop by the office and wait for you once I’ve taken care of these two.”

 

“ Good, good. I’ll see you there.” George abruptly turned and walked to his car, pausing just before climbing into the driver’s seat to give the Morgans a _look_. “ I’ll make arrangements to have a vehicle waiting for you two tomorrow. I suggest doing your best to not slow this investigation down.”

 

With that, the sheriff slammed the door shut, and with a rev of an engine and a squealing of wheels, drove towards Greenvale, leaving a cloud of dust and the pungent odor of diesel in its wake. Zach and York both made a face at the smell, causing Emily to chuckle.

 

“ I promise you that he’s not usually like this. It’s just a very small town, so when one of us dies, we all ache. It’s especially worse with this murder, because we all worried about whether one of the people we know is the killer—you know, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s just has a lot on his plate.”

 

“ That’s a relief. I was starting to feel sorry for you having to put up with such an asshole from nine to five.” Zach closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “ I really am sorry for making the situation awkward for you, Emily. I put you in an uncomfortable position, and that wasn’t fair of me. I’ll make it up to you.”

 

Emily couldn’t help but feel touched. “ Don’t worry about it, Zach—I know full and well what it’s like to be on edge, and he wasn’t exactly the…friendliest towards Agent York.”

 

“ Oh well, he’s not the first difficult law enforcement agent I’ve had to deal with in my time. I can put up with his growling and calling me by the wrong name for a few days at least.” York smiled again—slightly more awkward and significantly more forced—and looped an arm around Zach’s shoulder. “ Come on, what do you say we head to the hotel and get out of Emily’s hair for the night?”

 

Zach gave a weak nod, leaning his head on York’s shoulder in exhaustion as the group made their way towards Emily’s car, the violet and pink sun dipping low under the tree tops of Greenvale’s horizon.

 

* * *

 

Twilight had descended by the time Emily’s jeep pulled into the parking lot of the surprisingly expansive Great Deer Yard Hotel. York had declined Emily’s invitation to call shotgun, and instead sat in the back with Zach, who had fallen asleep with his head on York’s shoulder almost immediately after buckling in. Emily, frankly, enjoyed the chatter-free twenty-minute drive, since it gave her a chance to begin her nightly ritual of cognitively processing and categorizing the day’s happenings. Every once in awhile she glanced at her rearview mirror to find York in the exact same position—right hand softly stroking Zach’s stark white hair, left hand supporting his chin as he leaned on the left side door and gazed out the open window at the scenery. When they had bisected downtown Greenvale, its lights had made his eyes appear as if they were dotted with stars, and Emily was forced to admit to herself that Agent York was quite an attractive man. It was a shame that he apparently didn’t see her in the same light, although their conversation on the bridge…

 

Emily shoved her ruminations aside as she parked in front of the main door and set the car to idle. “ Agent York, we’re here.”

 

“ I can see that, Emily.” Rather than sounding put out, his voice was dreamlike, implying that York had been torn from musings of own. “ I appreciate all of your help today.”

 

“ No problem—just doing my job.” Emily’s phone began to vibrate, and she pulled it out of her pocket to read George’s text message. “ Ah, looks like they’ve taken your car to Lysander’s garage. Thomas has already dropped off your luggage in your room, and it’s all intact and dry. The hotel owner’s already gone to sleep, but she’s left the key on the front desk for you.”

 

“ Finally, the first good news I’ve heard all day. When you see this Thomas, give him our thanks.” As York began to shake Zach awake, Emily climbed out of the car to stretch and take in the rain-cooled air. If the blonde closed her eyes and focused, she could smell the smoke of distant bonfires and the mossy odor of wet Earth. While she still missed Seattle in many ways, even after eight years in Greenvale, she had always preferred the odors of her new home after a storm.

 

The Morgans emerged from the backseat—York with the backpack slung over his right shoulder and Zach struggling to stay awake—and approached Emily. “ Wanted to thank you again for the ride.” Zach drawled, and by God, a man in his late twenties or early thirties should not sound so adorable when he yawned. “ I take it we’ll be seeing you tomorrow?”

 

“ Yep. George will have a car waiting for you in the morning. You can use it while your own is being repaired at Lysander’s junkyard and garage. We’re open from 9:00 to 17:00, but _please_ get there sooner rather than later, for all our sakes.”

 

“ Don’t worry Emily, Zach and I tend to be early risers, even when dead dog beat the night before. We’ll be there as soon as possible.” York gave a nod in farewell, and the two brothers began to walk towards the lobby, leaving Emily to deflate in prospect of the long night still ahead for her.

 

“ Emily!”

 

The deputy sheriff, having just buckled her seatbelt, managed to stop her reflexive jump in its tracks (she had a feeling that she’d better get used to being startled by the Morgans). She rolled down the passenger’s side window and peered out at Agent York, who met her eyes with a devilish smirk.

 

“ You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours. Deal?”

 

Emily remembered their earlier conversation and had to hold her stomach to keep herself from losing it. Despite all her efforts, however, she couldn’t keep a single speck of her mirth out of her voice.

 

“ You’ve got it, superboy. See you bright and early tomorrow.”

 

She could have sworn she heard York snort in amusement, but one blink later and he and Zach were already in front of the lobby doors. As York readjusted Zach’s massive backpack, he suddenly jerked and punched Zach’s shoulder out of nowhere, causing the heterochromic man to laugh and yank York’s ear in retort. The FBI agent batted his brother’s hand away with a smile and held open the door for him, and with that, they entered the hotel, the doors swinging shut behind them and leaving Emily to smack her face and guffaw for a good minute or so.

 

_Those two will certainly make life interesting for a while. It’s strange, though…it looked like they were ribbing each other, but even though I was close enough to hear them talking, it looked like they weren’t saying a single thing…_

Emily filed that thought away for later and wiped tears of amusement from the corners of her eyes. _One thing at a time, Emily. One thing at a time._ Stealing one last look at the hotel doors, she put her car into gear and peeled off into the dark, driving into the beginnings of her unexpected, uncertain future.


	3. Part 1 - Lucky Number One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zach encounters a pair of twin angels and a piece of surrealist art, drinks the worst meal shake in the history of the universe out of brotherly love, and meets a shy, squirrel-loving deputy after inadvertently "stealing" his breakfast spot to draw. What was is that York's coffee said the other day, about how this place would change their fates?

 

* * *

 

 

**_First automated coffee machine fortune, as read by Francis Zach Morgan:_ **

****

**_You will meet the love of your life today, but do not expect seizing it to be easy, or without pain, or tears, or sacrifice. Lucky number - 1._ **

****

* * *

****

_Twin angels greeted him in his dreams._

_Zach knew quite well what the room he was standing in was—the Red Room he had been locked in since the accident when he was seven, his isolation only broken by the arrival of his guardian angel. The carpet of red leaves, topiaries of twisting red vines, and never-ending drizzle of leaves falling from crimson trees were as familiar to him as…well…York. With the child angels, however, had come several changes to his mindscape. The numerous doors that lined his mind had been reduced to two (one of which was hopefully the door to the White Room, where he spent most of his time anyways), one behind and one in front. A wooden nightstand with coffee and doughnuts stood to his left, right next to a lit, lone brick fireplace. Beyond the fireplace was what looked to be a map dotted with numerous action figures resting on another end table. On his right was an old black and white TV, flickering static, and above him an ornate crystal chandelier, like the ones in the fancy hotels he and York tended to stay in whenever assignments took them to the big city. All of the inanimate objects in his mindscape, however, couldn’t hold a candle to the piece de resistance in the “center” of the room._

_There sat twin child angels, around seven or eight, with brown skin so dark it bordered on black. Unlike he and York, these two were absolutely identical in almost every way, shape, and form. Both had a good-sized layer of short, curly black hair coating the crowns of their heads, both had large brown eyes twinkling with mischief and ethereality, and both wore identical diaphanous white gowns and twinkling golden haloes. Even though they were sitting in two high-backed, red velvet chairs, their white wings were able to stretch and flutter freely in the imperceptible breeze. The two were muttering gibberish to each other behind cupped hands, but instead of feeling disconcerted with their behavior, Zach understood completely. He and York had a language all of their own, after all, so why not twins as alike as two dollops of cream?_

_…Wait, on closer examination, the boy on the right was illuminated by a green aura, and the one on the left radiated blue. Zach had a feeling that would come in handy in the future._

_“ Um…hi there. What are you guys doing in the Red Room?”_

_At Zach’s inquiry, the twins ceased their conversation and turned their hypnotizing eyes towards their white-haired observer._

_“ Could you wait…just a moment longer?” The blue twin’s voice echoed in Zach’s ears, even though there was literally nothing it could bounce off._

_“ This won’t take long.” Wow, even the green twin’s voice? Zach was starting to have flashbacks to “The Shining”._

_Instead of pushing his luck with the disconcerting seraphim, Zach decided to be patient and explored the new features of his prison of nearly twenty-six years. The coffee was strong and stale, and the doughnuts grainy and tasteless, in spite of the thick coating of powdered sugar that now stuck to his hands. Zach actually became frightened of the deer head hung on top of the mantle of the fireplace (he could swear its eyes were following him around the room), and quickly moved on to the map display. It turned out to be a colorful map of America, and on each state stood a figurine, each having a different appearance, and gender presentation. Zach couldn’t fathom the purpose of this set-up but nonetheless studied the action figure planted on Washington with interest. The doll was in the shape of a fat, white man, who was dressed in a yellow and orange-checked flannel shirt and denim overalls, carrying a potted twig under his right arm, and had thick plastic brown hair and thin glasses painted onto his face. The white-haired man suddenly felt cold, nauseous, and so terribly alone. Where was York? He couldn’t be here anymore! He needed him!_

**_Please save me! Please don’t leave me alone with him—!_ **

_It took a few seconds for Zach to shake the vertigo out of his head, but eventually his vision righted and his panic attack subsided enough for him to move on to the other side of the room. Walking past the angels (who were engaged in another intense and indecipherable dialogue), Zach came to stand in front of the TV and, after a moment's hesitation, flicked it off. It wasn’t like he had cable installed in his own personal astral plane._

_Feeling more-than-ready to wake up from this obvious dream, Zach turned to walk over to the angels and froze. On the right of the TV—right next to the door that probably led to the White Room—was a medium-sized canvas painting resting on a black easel. The painting had apparently been there longer than the other objects, as evident by its thick covering of fallen red leaves (most likely the reason he had missed it on his first scan). Even though he hated touching anything related to the red forest that entrapped his mind, Zach gritted his teeth, hid his hands in his shirtsleeves, and brushed the organic camouflage off the easel._

_The paint (definitely oil) was fresh and gleaming, and its artist was apparently fond of a dark, somber pallet and laying their medium on thick. Spattered globs of paint did not a good painting make, yet Zach’s trained eye was able to make out the faint image of a white silhouette against a pitch-black background. The figure’s back was extended to a painful angle, and a stream of…well… **something** crimson red was violently bursting from the area of their stomach towards the top of the canvas. Just before the geyser reached the limit of the frame, it split and sprayed towards the sides, forming a pattern similar to a curved, macabre treetop. At first Zach thought it was simply a violent and “artsy” hemorrhaging of the abdominal aorta, but a closer examination revealed smaller brushstrokes, forming thick, climbing vines and scattered butterflies a shade darker than the blood. Was it meant to be a gory, violent death? A metamorphosis? Both? Something else entirely?_

_The longer Zach studied the painting, the more uneasy he became. It may have been the fact that his nerves were still frayed from the sudden panic attack brought on by the doll table, but there was something about the white silhouette that was…well, familiar. And if he squinted his eyes and tilted his head just so, he could have sworn on his parents’ graves that the white cutout looked a little like—_

_No, a lot like—_

_Just like—_

_Zach’s stomach bottomed out._

**_It can’t be…York?!_ **

_As Zach began to hyperventilate, the blue twin spoke up. “ Sorry to keep you waiting, it will start soon.”_

_The green twin’s eyes were boring daggers into his back. “ It’s about time to get started.”_

_“ No, no wait!” Zach was now gripping the painting with white-knuckled hands, franticly trying to decipher the indecipherable. “ Please, why is York in this painting? Is something going to happen to him? Who’s that fat man on Washington?”_

_Before the angels could reply, the doors flew open simultaneously, the room filled with white light, and—_

* * *

 

Zach’s eyes flew open to meet early morning sunlight. It took a few moments to register that he had finally woken up from that nightmare, and after a quick examination to find that the Red Room had “returned” to normal, unclenched his fists from the sheets of the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. _Nothing like freaky topical dreams to start off an investigation._

 

Realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep, Zach nonetheless snuggled into the plush white covers and plump pillows of the best bed he and York had ever slept on. If there was a heaven, it most likely used this brand of mattress, and the fact that it was a California King was almost destiny at work. They would have to ask the owner of the hotel—Mrs. Polly Oxford—where they could get this bedding, and if they weren’t able to buy it in Washington D.C., if they could just pawn one of these setups off her and strap it to the roof of their car (when it was repaired). It was absolutely _imperative_ that they got one of those babies in their apartment A.S.A.P.

 

Before getting out of bed proper, Zach flipped onto his right side and squeezed his occupied right hand. York was sleeping soundly on his back and the White Room door was closed, despite the fact that they had forgotten to close the binds the night before, and the sunlight was falling directly on his face. It must have been hot and glaring as hell, but York was one of those people capable of sleeping through a nuclear apocalypse, and pretty much the only thing that could wake him up prematurely was his white-haired twin’s distress. Thankfully, Zach’s dream hadn’t been agitating enough for it to transmit to York, because the other was sleeping like a baby, and would most likely be out like a light for at least two more hours. Giving York’s left hand a last fond pat, the heterochromic man slid out of bed, re-tucked the covers on York’s left side, grabbed his blue suitcase, and made his way to the bathroom.

 

Zach had been so out of it the night before that he was only able to wash up, shove an entire box of pastries into his mouth, take his nighttime medication, and curl up on the bed, throat too sore and limbs too heavy to stay awake a moment longer. Even though he was rode hard and put down wet the night before, Zach was always the early riser of the two, no matter his previous constitution. Thankfully his throat no longer felt like he had tried to deep throat a Japanese radish, and all things considered, he was quite bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that morning. He’d probably even get almost all of his spoons back after breakfast, but…he always saved that for last.

 

Now that Zach was fully conscious, he could appreciate not only the spacious bathroom, but also the oak-paneled, homey, grandmotherly hotel room itself. Not only was it large enough to accommodate that monster of a bed, but it was also a full suite, with a living room, a brick fireplace and old black and white television (both of which now looked suspiciously familiar), kitchenette, and bathroom with both a shower and a tub. The white-haired twin eyed the latter longingly, but his normal investigation routine was to get up early the first day and case out the location, so a timesaving shower it was.

 

As he showered, brushed his teeth, and shaved, Zach tried to focus on the known details of Anna Graham’s murder and the encounter with the Shadows and the raincoated man the night before, but he couldn’t stop straying back to that dream—or rather, to the fat man doll and the surreal painting. He almost slit his jugular trying to remember if he had seen the doll before, but no matter how painstakingly he racked his brain, the only thing he managed to accomplish was sowing the seeds of a tension headache. Oh well, it was better than considering…that canvas. That twisted silhouette of York and the fountain of red bursting from his abdomen, the branches and butterflies that spiraled up from the blood…no, no, it meant nothing. He was just exhausted and sick and run ragged the night before and it caused abnormal brain waves. That’s all. That’s it. It meant nothing.

 

_It meant **nothing.**_

****

Desperate to get the image out of his head, Zach threw on a white button-down and a pair of black jeans, threw on his sneakers, grabbed his backpack after exiting the bathroom, and bolted out of the hotel room, being careful to quietly close the door behind him. He’d just get some coffee, wolf down his mouth-numbing breakfast, and go out for some air. Pretty soon he’d forget he even had that fucking weird dream. Probably. Hopefully.

 

The Great Deer Yard Hotel had obviously seen better times—given the fact that he and York seemed to be the only guests skulking about the empty halls—but nevertheless it was scrubbed and polished to the nines, its brown hallway carpeting was stain free, and the air was infused with a tang of lemon. After wandering the expansive building for a few minutes, Zach found his way to the dining hall, which was ten times the size it needed to be and had a spectacular view of the giant lake and forests behind the hotel. Zach could see several docks jutting over the water, and decided to go out and see if he could get some drawing in before finding a way into town.

 

Breakfast had not yet been prepared, but the automatic coffee maker on the buffet was in working order, and Zach enjoyed two cups of the black tepid brew before deciding to get the worst part of every morning over with. He grabbed the biggest glass he could find on the breakfast bar, filled it with water, and pulled a sealed paper packet from his bag. His stomach was already whining in protest, and he didn’t blame it in the slightest.

 

It was almost exactly three years since the Schism, and while the sad state of his body had definitely improved during that time, the two physical problems that continued to haunt him were his weight and stamina, which were sluggish to improve at best and static at worst. His spoon count—while not nearly as dreadful as it once was—was still abysmally low for someone his age, and he just couldn’t seem to gain those last ten to twenty pounds that would place him in a secure, healthy weight range. While his body had long escaped the throes of rapid protein metabolism, his concerning body mass had gone on for so long that several doctors had suggested temporarily inserting a feeding tube into his stomach to jumpstart the process, which both he and York vocally declared was off the table unless he was near death or comatose. To compromise, he had been placed on a battery of supplements to take at dinner and what had to the world’s most rancid nutrient shake at breakfast. While it had been effective in causing a slow yet steady weight gain, the flavor was akin to rotten lettuce, and _nothing_ he did to it made it more palatable.

 

It was so bad that a few months prior he had attempted to just skip the damn thing altogether and started dumping the powder down the sink every morning in secret. He had been able to get away with it for a few weeks (and his tastebuds had never felt better), but when he started thinning out again, York began to worry himself sick, and eventually Zach broke down under his guilt and confessed his deception. York wasn’t even disappointed or offended at his dishonesty—he was well aware of how bad the shakes tasted and said that if Zach couldn’t stand it anymore, then that was that, and he was just glad that he wasn’t actually getting sick again. However, while his black-haired twin was an infuriating pro at concealing almost every single one of his negative emotions, Zach could tell how upset he was by the way he stared at his shuffling feet and gnawed at his cigarette, and it made him realize that he was being, frankly, a selfish brat who was hurting the only person he loved in the world through his own immaturity. Zach hadn’t missed a morning since, and whenever he felt like throwing the packets out of the window, he remembered that York had done more for him then he could ever repay and asked for nothing in return but his continued existence and happiness, so for his sake he needed to suck it up and take his goddamn medicine like an adult.

 

It was with that mindset that Zach mixed the white powder with the water, made sure the door to the White Room was shut, tensed his entire body, asked his mother to watch over him, and gulped it down. Even though he had been drinking the mixture for half a year, the “flavor” always surprised him, and he had to use every ounce of will in his body to keep his stomach from rejecting it entirely. Finally the ordeal was over, and Zach spent the next five minutes drinking glass after glass of water and resting his head on the countertop until he was sure he wouldn’t vomit if he moved around—he had done enough of that yesterday, thank you very much.

 

Well, at least the taste was starting to fade from Zach’s mouth. It would still be an hour or so before he could safely eat something, but the day was starting to look up. He put the water glass in the sink and walked over to the transparent glass wall that showed off the majestic back of the property. Fortunately, there was a patio door in the glass wall leading to a weathered deck, so after checking to make sure the exit wasn’t armed, the white-haired man headed outside and began his trek towards the docks.

 

* * *

 

The air was cool, crisp, and laced with the smells of soil and sweet grass, with nary a hint of pollution or pollen in “sight”. The breeze was just strong enough to sway the treetops of the horizon-spanning forest and form ripples on the bluest lake Zach had ever seen in person. For someone who had lived in nothing but cities and tightly packed suburbs, the entire atmosphere of the early summer Greenvale morning was the very definition of a pleasant surprise. As he sat on the edge of the dock and delighted in the cacophony of the lakeside frogs, the heterochromatic man couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would feel murderous if they could wake up to mornings like these…perhaps it was all of the rain and the Seasonal Affective Disorder it could trigger; after all, Washington had the most rainy days on average of the whole United States. Both Morgans had never been ones to be affected terribly by the weather, but every person is unique, with their own homeostasis and hormone levels.

 

Well, whatever the killer was up to, Zach was sure he and York would catch up to them in no time. In the meanwhile he simply wanted to enjoy the glorious morning, and he kicked his legs back and forth in delight as he took out his sketchbook and charcoal pencils. If there _was_ one thing good clean air and breathtaking scenery did for him, it was put him in an artistic, inspired mood.

 

Officially, Francis Zach Morgan had been employed the attaché and personal assistant to FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan in the Irregular Incidents Division ever since was well enough to accompany York on his cases after the Schism—around two and a half years ago. While Zach never even considered _not_ accompanying York on his assignments (they had been literally inseparable for twenty years, so no need to fix something when it wasn’t broken), he had to admit that while he found his work with the FBI engaging, stimulating, and cathartic in his own way, everyone who knew him agreed that his true talent and passion was in art. Ever since Zach could pick up a crayon, he was always drawing something, and York made sure that activity continued after the accident, whether in the Red and White Rooms or during any bout of control he could grant him. Therefore, despite the fact that the events in his life had left him sickly and officially diagnosed with PTSD, Zach was an expert in almost every painting and drawing medium. Whether it be pastels, charcoal, acrylic, oil, watercolor, colored pencils, or even spray paint, Zach could quickly churn out works that many of those who had seen them claimed were “museum-worthy”.

 

While Zach doubted he was _that_ talented (especially since his most effusive (yet still treasured) praise came from his own brother, who was most admittedly biased), he decided after the Schism that, in order to bring in a little extra cash and give himself a creative outlet, he would start doing commissions for people online, and had actually started building quite a name for himself in the past two and a half years. If Zach couldn’t believe the praise, he could at least believe the empirical evidence of he and York’s savings account, which would now be able to sustain them for quite a while if they ever lost their jobs. Since he had to advertise himself under a pseudonym due to his involvement with the FBI, his real name was never associated with even his most beloved pieces, but Zach was simply glad that he could actually _make_ art at all; the money and compliments were simply a rather seductive bonus.

 

The astonishing thing was that a few weeks ago, a woman by the name of Becky Ames had messaged him to see if he could help her make a birthday gift for her older sister’s twenty-ninth birthday. Apparently the woman owned an art gallery that specialized in modern and impressionist pieces, and the younger Ames had claimed that nothing would please her sister more than a painting of their hometown worthy enough for the gallery. Although Zach had been wary about having to travel all the way to the sticks, Ames was willing to not only pay _very generously_ for the painting, but to also let him stay at her place (which she claimed was “very nice”, and with her ability to throw money around, Zach could only speculate as to _how_ nice), and he had been extremely torn as to what to do when York told him about their next assignment. Zach wasn’t sure if had been a work of fate or god or just random galactic equations, but Becky and her sister lived in Greenvale, Washington. Zach very quickly messaged Becky to let her know that he had to visit Greenvale anyways for a “personal matter”, so there would be no need for her to lodge him or pay for a plane ticket. He had heard no reply, but he could probably get her address from Emily (no way in _hell_ he was asking George), so he might as well take a few sketches of Greenvale over to her house to see if she would be interested in turning one of them into a full painting.

 

…of course, Zach didn’t want to even consider whether or not she could possibly be the murderer, but at the moment the fact that his FBI identity had finally caught up with his artistic one was not a concern; rather, he was more focused on capturing the early morning scenery of the hotel’s lake in a sketch before it slipped away.

 

* * *

 

Zach was unsure how long he’d been utterly absorbed with his work. All he knew was that the sun was yellow and rising and his focus was laser-guided on feathering the waves on the shore of the lake as best he could with just charcoal, when a soft tap on his right shoulder yanked him back to reality.

 

“ Um…sorry to bother you…”

 

Zach almost launched himself and his charcoal drawing into the lake, but the intruder’s voice was so timid and soft that he managed to temper his reflex to just jumping a few inches off the dock and choking on air, sensing that they meant no harm.

 

“ Oh, oh no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I just—“

 

“ No, no, it’s fine. I was just zoned out.” Zach smiled reassuringly and shifted his seat to face the other person. “ Do you need something?”

 

Standing behind him was a tall young man who looked to be around his physical age (late twenties or early thirties), with short, thick brown hair, a soft, long face, olive skin, and large, expressive brown eyes behind a pair of oval-lensed glasses. Judging from his dress (brown shoes, brown slacks, a long-sleeved shirt similar to Emily’s own uniform top, and a brown tie), he was obviously a member of the police force, and the badge pinned to his shirt suggested he was a deputy. When Zach met his eyes, he flushed and looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet and linking his arms behind his back, one of which was holding a plastic shopping bag stuffed with _something._

Zach’s breath caught in his throat.

 

 **_Well_ ** _then._

After a few more seconds of awkward silence (in which the police officer blushed hotter and Zach tried to get his vocal cords to work), the white-haired man cleared his throat and managed to regain a sliver of composure. “ So…uh…did you need something, officer?”

 

“ What, I—Oh!” The deputy’s head snapped up and his cheeks began to wash out. “ Um…no…well…I…you see…I didn’t mean to bother you, I’ll go—“

 

“ No, don’t go!” Both Zach himself and the other man startled at his urgent tone of voice. “ Er, sorry, I mean…please, you’re not bothering me. Go ahead and speak your mind.”

 

“ Ah…um…” His head drooped down yet again as he kicked his heels against the dock, and dear God it was one of the most adorable things Zach had ever seen. “ Well, you see…I usually come out here to eat breakfast. I mean, this dock offers the best view of the lake compared to the others, and it’s so relaxing to just listen to the water and watch the sun rise, but I got a late start today because I was up so late last night, and I saw you here, and I’ve never seen you before, and it’s such a small town, so…so…”

 

“ You were wondering who I was and why I was in your spot?” Zach offered.

 

“ Yes, yes exactly. I mean, I’m not going to ask you to move or anything…I’ll get a nice view anywhere, but you looked new to town, and I was…curious. But you were drawing a really nice landscape and I interrupted you, so I’ll go…”

 

Zach couldn’t help but chuckle as he climbed to his feet. “ I don’t mind. I am new here, after all, and I would be disconcerted if someone I didn’t know took my usual spot. And don’t worry about my drawing—it’s just a draft, and I was already done outside of fine tuning.” He walked up to the bashful man and extended a charcoal-smeared hand. “ My name’s Francis Zach Morgan, but you can call me Zach. I’m actually here with my brother…he’s an FBI agent and I’m his assistant. We’re here to—“

 

“ _You’re_ one of the FBI brothers?” The brown-haired man lifted his head yet again, eyes filled with what looked to be a little bit of awe. “ Wow, what a coincidence! I was the one who brought your belongings to the hotel last night!”

 

Zach’s own eyes widened. “ So that means…you’re Sheriff Woodman’s assistant?”

 

“ Yes, yes I am.” Their hands met in a shake, which was firm in spite of the pale one’s smudginess. “ My name’s Thomas MacLaine, and you can call me Thomas if I can call you Zach.”

 

“ Deal.” The white-haired man’s grin threatened to split his face apart as he broke the handshake. “ So we were the reason you were up so late last night, and here I am taking your spot. That’s pretty awful of me all around.”

 

“ No, no, you didn’t know!” Thomas stumbled backwards, waving his free hand in protest. “ Believe me, it was my pleasure to be of assistance. I mean.” Back to the shuffling and linked hands behind his back. “ This is the first really big investigation I’ve ever seen, and I want to do everything I can to help, so it’s really the least I can do.”

 

“ Well, thank you, all the same. Tell you what, how about you sit with me?”

 

Thomas once again jumped in surprise; Zach was honestly starting to feel like was coming on too strong. “ What? I mean…a-are you sure?”

 

“ Of course. There’s room for the both of us, and making sure you get your spot is the least I can do to repay you for your help. You get to eat your breakfast, I get to finish up the finer details of my drawing, and we can both head to the station together afterwards to start work on the investigation. It’s a win-win all around. So please…join me.” _God I hope I don’t sound desperate. Do I sound desperate? Do guys like other guys who’re desperate? I can’t believe I’m actually thinking this._

The color drained out of Thomas’ face completely, and for a few seconds it looked like was going to bolt away like a scared animal as he looked at Zach, then up at the hotel, then back again several times. As Zach’s heart began to recede from this throat and sink into his diaphragm, the deputy suddenly nodded, looked up at Zach…and smiled.

 

“ I’d love to…Zach.”

 

It was then Zach knew he’d actually, honest-to-God, fallen in love at first sight.

 

“ Well then, have a seat. Forgive me if I’m a little quiet, I tend to wander off when I’m drawing.” The artist patted the space beside him, and after a final moment’s hesitation, Thomas slid down beside him, opting to cross his legs on the dock instead of dangling them off the edge. “ What time is it, anyways? I forgot to put on my watch.”

 

“ Oh, it’s...” the deputy paused in opening his bag of food to glance at the brown leather watch on his left wrist. “ Seven thirty. I have to be back at the office by eight thirty. I can give you and Agent Morgan a ride there, if you want.”

 

“ Trust me, just call him York—it’s the first thing he’ll ask you. While I’m sure he’d appreciate the offer, he’ll probably just be getting ready to go by then, so you’d just be late if you waited for him. I wouldn’t mind a ride, though.”

 

“ I see. The sheriff dropped off a patrol car for you two to use last night, and I just came up here in my regular car.”

 

“ That was…strangely nice and amicable of him.”

 

“ Why do you say that?”

 

“ Sheriff Woodman and I…let’s just say we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. He doesn’t seem too fond of York, either, and I tend to not be fond of people who don’t like him.”

 

Thomas glanced at his new companion before sinking his gaze towards the lake. “ I see…I’m sorry he didn’t make the best impression.” His voice was as heavy and sorrowful as his eyes had become, and Zach was alarmed at the sudden mood shift.

 

“…I’m sure things will get better, though. It’s always rough when you first enter into someone else’s investigation. Oh, sorry to switch subjects, but did you happen to find out anything about our car last night?”

 

“ Actually, yes, that reminds me!” Thomas snapped his fingers, returning to his prior shy, contented demeanor. “ The General—General Lysander, I mean—wants you and York to stop by at your earliest convenience. He said he’s fixed worse, but it’ll still cost you a bit of money.”

 

“ That’s a relief. That car’s been in the Morgan family for a loooooong time. I’m glad Wonderful still has fight left in her.”

 

“ Wonderful?”

 

“ It’s…an inside joke between us. I’ll tell you about it when she’s all fixed up. It’s something you have to see.”

 

“ I see—I look forward to it then.” Thomas fell silent as Zach resumed scratching out the surface of the water, unable to keep a silly smile off his face. If Zach were any other person he’d be ashamed that he was acting like a middle-schooler with a first crush, but seeing as this man sitting besides him was the first person _ever_ to catch his eye (for numerous reasons), the white-haired artist was cutting himself a bit of slack and relishing the bubbles in his gut. They were a lot better than those disgusting shakes, for sure.

 

“ Um…Zach…” Zach raised his head at the gentle inquiry and stared at Thomas, who was once again pink in the face. “ I’m not sure if you’ve eaten yet…but I always make too much of my breakfast, and I normally share it with people at the department, but…would you like some of it?”

 

The smell of home cooking gripped Zach’s stomach as a warm hand squeezed his chest. It was definitely time for breakfast. “ I’d love to, Thomas. What’s on the menu for today?”

 

 

**_To be continued…_ **

 

 


	4. Part 2 - The Agent and the Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Agent York encounters two familiar faces in a dream (one most welcome and the other quite unwelcome), ponders the dynamics of "mental astral planes" with Zach, has a battle of wits (and vocal strength) with the elderly hotel owner, and sees an answer in a cup of coffee for which he does not yet know the question. One thing at a time...

* * *

 

**_First automated coffee machine fortune, as read by Francis York Morgan:_ **

****

**_Your destiny lies in the person whose name you now know. It is up to you, however, to choose the direction it shall take. Lucky color – white._ **

****

* * *

****

_It was towards the edge of wakefulness when York found himself standing in a tree-lined corridor of rotting red and packed, damp, black earth. There was a wooden door at the very end of the “hallway”, brick red and leading into a patch of pure black, and as the similar door behind him had just locked automatically, the FBI agent had no choice but to press onward._

_York, despite his trepidation at the pointlessly long hallway, was relatively nonplused at the whole scenario. After all, it wasn’t the first time he had sunk so deep into sleep that he began to conjure illusive environments similar to the appearance of his and Zach’s own mental lodgings. Such visions tended to occur immediately before waking for the day, so all the black-haired man had to do was bide time until his circadian rhythm’s alarm went off, and all would hopefully return to normal. Seeing as the door behind him (which he didn’t remember going through) was firmly locked, the only way “out” was several yards in front of him._

_On one hand, maybe he should just stand still and twiddle his thumbs until he finally woke up. York had seen enough horror movies and played enough horror games to become an expert at the less-than-pleasant events that tended to occur halfway down any ridiculously long hall. Then again, Zach and the “real” Red Room could possibly be behind the blatantly ominous door in front of him, and if the white-haired man happened to be dreaming in parallel with him, York was worried about the contents of said dream (since Zach tended to have such pernicious nightmares) and its potential impact on his more mentally and emotionally fragile twin’s state of mind…_

_As York was furiously debating whether or not he should stay put or take their chances and press onwards, he was caught completely off-guard by a tiny tug to the back of his suit coat. Before he could spin around and face his “attacker”, a tiny voice rose up to meet him._

_“ York…York!”_

_A tiny, soft, hauntingly nostalgic voice._

_Outside of anything concerning Zach, it was well known amongst his co-workers and acquaintances that it took a great, **great** deal to just rustle the notoriously unflappable Francis York Morgan (well, outside of certain types and amounts of stimuli, but Zach was the only one who knew anything about that and he planned on keeping it that way). Therefore, those who knew him personally would have been shocked to hear York actually gaspin surprise as he slowly turned and stared down at his new companion—a boy of six or seven years of age, clad in a very, **very** recognizable pair of navy blue, space-themed pajamas, whose dainty hand was still curled timidly around the bottom seam of his coat. However, those who would be surprised at York’s astonishment would have been missing one critical piece of the puzzle, because the green-eyed agent had instantly recognized the gentle voice, the black bowl-cut, and the soft blue eyes of the little boy. There are things a guardian cannot forget, after all, and one of them would most certainly be the first meeting with their charge._

_“ Hey there, Zach.”_

_While his hair had not yet been petrified into whiteness, and his left eye was still clear blue and scar free, the little boy’s answering smile was more than enough to reassure York that this was indeed a younger version of Zach standing before him. After all, that toothy grin was—and had been for the past twenty-six years—one of York’s favorite things in the world, and the FBI agent couldn’t help but grin back as he reached down and scooped the child into his arms._

_“ It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this, Zach. It’s still amazing how different you looked before I met you. A lot like me, actually…so, what’re you doing here, little guy? Is big you here too?”_

_Little Zach’s face twisted in concentration (a sight that was absolutely precious from York’s now-adult perspective), and after allowing the little boy to deliberate for a few seconds, York chuckled and patted his downy-soft head. “ Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Seeing as there’s only one way out of here, we can easily deduce that if I’m also dreaming about present Zach, the only place he could be is behind that door. Do you want to come with me or stay here?”_

_Little Zach’s response to was to whine in protest and bury himself into the crook of York’s neck. The older man found himself laughing yet again and nuzzling the child’s crown. “ Yeah, you’d be pretty scared, being out here by yourself. Okay, we’ll go together, then.”_

_After shifting the child so he rested more securely in his arms, York began to stride towards the exit as fast as he could without jostling little Zach unnecessarily. He didn’t trust this landscape as far as he could throw the boy (which he would never do in the first place, so there), and the sooner they got out of this dreamscape, the better. York wasn’t sure why a younger version of Zach had appeared in a place like this (he couldn’t wait to tease big Zach about this when he woke up), but the elite agent had a feeling that—as nice as it was to see a blast from the past—it meant nothing good._

_Unfortunately for York, he was proven right as he reached the broad middle of the path and began to hear the sound of metal grinding against stone, superimposed against the rustling of leaves and crunching of plants under heavy footfalls. Stopping in his tracks, York put a finger to little Zach’s lips, who immediately understood the gravity of the situation and made a “super-serious” face, unwinding one of his arms from around York’s neck to cup a hand over his mouth. The pair waited, stock still and dead silent, as the grinding and swishing grew louder and closer until the responsible party emerged from behind a curtain of wilting red vines on the right, axe blade dragging on the ground a few feet behind their heavy black boots._

_York’s stomach tightened. **Well well—if it isn’t our raincoat-clad friend from the road.**_

****

_As the axe-wielding apparition sluggishly trudged their way towards the middle of the path, York took the opportunity to observe their mysterious assailant while he had the chance. The figure was a foot or so shorter than him, with thick booted feet, wide hands in old black gardening gloves, and a tattered, ichor-stained red raincoat, with the hood pulled up and the bottom coming down to just above the figure’s ankles, leaving just the cuffs of their black pants and shoes visible. Though York couldn’t clearly see the figure’s face due to it being completely (and abnormally) obscured by the cover of the hood, their yellow, round eyes emitted such intense light, the FBI agent hypothesized that their night vision was more potent than their day sight, and filed that fact away for later reference._

_The raincoated figure came to a stop in the middle of the path—just a yard or so ahead of the pair—and began to twist their head back and forth, as if listening for York and little Zach. Despite the stalker’s heaving shoulders, the Red Room was dead silent, save for the falling of leaves and little Zach’s almost-whimpers._

_Hearing his small charge’s distress yanked York back to reality, and the FBI agent clutched the child closer as he quickly shuffled through his options. Dream or not, he wasn’t going to risk finding out what would happen if the raincoated being ran his mental projection through. Plus, although little Zach was only a literal figment of his imagination, York would be damned if he let anything happen to him, real or not. The door behind them was locked, so backtracking was out of the question, and he had a feeling that they would be discovered if they waited too long to make a move. Stemming off his early deduction about the monster’s eyesight, York figured that the Red Room was too lit up for him to see clearly, so he was using his ears to track them down. If they were quiet enough, he and little Zach could possibly sneak past him and make a break for it…but if they were caught…_

_As if sensing York’s mental conflict, little Zach tugged urgently on the man’s suit collar. “ Don’t breathe! Hold your breath! They can’t see if you if you hold your breath! Hurry, cover your mouth, like this!” The black-haired child clamped his free hand over his mouth and nose and peered up expectantly at his “brother”._

_Most adults would have simply scoffed at the child and his apparent flight of whimsy. “They” couldn’t see if you if you held your breath—pfft, what kind of nonsense was that?! However, unlike most others his age, York was a firm believer in the boundless wisdom of children, especially if the child was his beloved twin’s younger self. Therefore, the special agent nodded in agreement, took in a quick breath of air, clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, and began to swiftly yet silently sneak behind the axe-wielding stalker, right arm still cradling little Zach close to his chest._

_Tiny Zach was right—just like York knew he would be. Despite a close call in which the axe-wielder leaned backwards and nearly butted the crown of their head on little Zach’s exposed side, their wide eyes may as well have not existed, even though York and little Zach’s faces were just a few feet away from their own. After a few futile seconds of listening, the raincoat-clad monster stood up straight and began to stalk towards the locked door, allowing York—lungs fit to burst and eyes watering—to make a soft sprint towards the exit._

_Just as York and little Zach reached their destination, the axe-wielder bellowed in rage (their voice echoing and guttering for maximum spooky factor), kicked the locked door open, and blustered through it, axe head catching on the door “frame” and promptly slicing through it. The door slammed shut behind him, and York and little Zach gasped and heaved in relief, beaming at each other in triumph all the while._

_“ Well done, Zach. My hero as always…even if big you doesn’t realize it.” York’s mood perceptibly dipped as he set the seven-year-old on his feet. “ So, now that the big lug’s gone…care to tell me what exactly is going on here?”_

_Little Zach gripped York’s left hand and stared up at him, “serious business” look once again plastered over his features. “ Was daddy right?”_

_“ What do you mean?”_

_“ I mean…was he right when he said what he said. You know, right?”_

_York’s blood turned to ice. “ How could I not? It haunts your dreams all the time.” The taste of lead coated the FBI agent’s tongue has he recited Brian Xander Morgan’s last words. “ **At times we must purge things from this world because they should not exist…**_ ”

 

“ **_…even if it means losing someone that you love._** ” _Little Zach’s voice teemed with unshed tears. “ Was he right, York? Was he right to…to…”_

_“ Of course not.” York’s voice was pure steel as he knelt down and embraced the shivering boy. “ What he did to Valentine…your mother…was wrong, no matter how you look at it. I’m going to tell you this…hell, I don’t know how many times over the years, and you have yet to fully believe me. I’m not angry or anything like that—you should have never had to go through what you did, at any age, and you’ll probably never get over it completely. But please, try your best to put his words out of your mind…they mean absolutely nothing.”_

_Little Zach sniffled and nodded, gently extracting himself from York’s arms. “ Thank you, York. It’s just that…it’s just that…both he and I are afraid…”_

_York’s stomach clenched. “ You and real Zach? What? What are you afraid of? You can tell me, Zach, you know you can tell me anything. I’m on your side, no matter what, so please…tell me.”_

_Little Zach stared at the ground and shuffled his bare feet. “ We’ve just…we’ve always been afraid that…that we’ll—“_

_Little Zach’s mouth moved, but no words came out, as the door next to them creaked open—_

* * *

 

 In contrast to Zach’s violent awakening, York gradually came to awareness, eyes fluttering in protest at the glaring sun filtering through the open blinds. The FBI agent turned onto his right side and rubbed his face, dimly aware that the other side of the bed was empty, but wasn’t alarmed in the slightest due to knowing Zach’s usual first-case-morning routine. While the white-haired twin was one to leap out of bed upon waking and immediately get to work, York was a far more casual riser, so he spent a good five minutes stretching and relaxing in their heaven-of-a-bed before even considering getting up. The show had to go on, however, so the black-haired man finally rose, sat on the edge of the bed, and knocked on the Red Room door.

 

**_Zach? Zach, can you hear me?_ **

****

It only took half a second for the door to swing open _. “ ‘Bout time you woke up. Were you dreaming of something really good or what?”_

 

York grinned as Zach slid into the White Room and closed the door firmly behind him; even after the Schism, the white-haired man spent the majority of his time outside of sleep in the White Room, and York couldn’t say he blamed him **. _“ Well, not good, but not…bad. I don’t think.”_**

****

_“ One of those kind of dreams, huh?”_

York grabbed his carton and lighter from the nightstand, lit a cigarette, and took a large drag, mind unwinding considerably. **_“ Yeah. Seven-year-old you was in it, actually. The way you were before the accident.”_**

****

York was relieved that Zach looked more puzzled than saddened at the mention of his past. _“ That’s…weird. What was I doing there?”_

**_“ I don’t know, exactly, but our raincoated friend showed up, and younger you gave me a handy trick to get past Shadows…if it works during waking hours.”_** York decided that Zach didn’t need to know about the final part of the dream; he had already suffered more than enough for his father’s actions _. **“ Apparently if you hold your breath, they won’t be able to find you, even if you’re right in front of them.”**_

****

_“…that kind of makes sense, now that I think about it. I mean, that Shadow we saw last night had no eyes. Not sure about the other ones, though…”_ Zach walked to the middle of the room and laid on the transparent, reflective floor, staring up at the black, “star-spotted” sky. _“ I actually had a dream, too.”_

**_“ Did you now?”_** York’s physical body put out the barely smoked cigarette and put it back in the carton, grabbed a fresh set of clothes, and headed to the bathroom while his mental impression laid down next to his brother and intertwined their hands. **_“ Anything important?”_**

****

Zach shrugged. _“ Not sure. I don’t really want to talk about it. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”_

**_“ Very well.”_ ** York wasn’t going to quibble; after all, he was hiding something from his own dream as well. As his physical body showered—humming all the while—his mental presence sighed and took in the calming, endless rain of white petals all around them.

In contrast to the Red Room, the White Room—York’s own section of whatever kind of psychological astral plane the two were wrapped up in—was filled with a forest of large trees smothered in small, white flowers. Even though the branches always seemed full of petals, they never stopped dropping them, which the Morgans chalked up to “weird mental astral plane mechanics”. Like in the Red Room, the forest seemed to go on for “miles”, and several gray doors surrounded the periphery of the clear, central space…all of which lead to an identical room with identical doors and vice versa. The floor seemed to be made of mirror glass, stretching as far as the eye could see, and the room itself was wonderfully lit in spite of the fact that the sky was frozen on clear nighttime. York had enough limited control over his mind space that he could conjure up furniture and such depending on their needs, but both seemed to prefer simply laying on the floor when awake and looking up at the sky, since it took absolutely no extra concentration to do so.

 

 _“ You ever think that maybe, if we go through enough doors, we’ll find other people’s Rooms?”_ Zach idly drug the fingers of his free hand along the smooth mirror. “ _That this isn’t just some strange phenomenon limited to just the two of us?”_

York had finished showering and was now brushing his teeth with practiced non-attention. **_“ Could be. I still say one of these days you should tie a rope around me and let me just walk around for a couple of hours.”_**

****

_“ You can if you want, but I won’t join in—I’d be too nervous that you wouldn’t be able to find your way back. Besides, we tried something like that when we were kids, remember? Two hours and a bunch of tangled rope earned us a whole lot of nothing. I don’t think we’d find anyone that doesn’t want to be found.”_ Zach shook his head against the ground. _“ Besides, I kind of think that someone will find us eventually. Not sure why.”_

**_“Your intuition is usually spot on about these things.”_** York had to be a little more “present” for shaving, but he could hold a decent conversation with Zach under pretty much any circumstance. **_“ It would be nice if there were others…they may be able to explain what happened to you.”_**

****

_“ And you.”_

**_“ I don’t know, Zach…I still think I just came to protect you, and this Room was a result.”_ **

****

_“ Well we don’t know for sure, now do we?”_ Zach sniffed petulantly. _“ By the way, I’m already on the way to the station. I met the deputy who picked up our stuff last night—his name’s Thomas MacLaine—and he offered me a ride. He’s got a pretty cute, classic Bug.”_

York paused in buttoning up his shirt, the unusual softness in Zach’s voice as he spoke the officer’s name throwing him off. **_“ Deputy MacLaine, huh? How did you meet him?”_**

****

_“ Well…”_

Zach quickly “sent” the memory over to York, who began to chuckle heartily, reaching for his tie.

 

**_“ “Thomas”, eh?”_ **

****

_“ York…”_

**_“ Thoooomaaaaas…”_ **

****

_“ York!”_ The FBI agent couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face as he finished knotting his tie.

 

**_“ How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, Zach? What, with you embarrassing me the other night—“_ **

****

_“ I did no such thing!”_ Zach protested vehemently. _“ It was your choice to punch me and, unless Mr. Space-Case has forgotten, everything I said to you was in our heads. Deputy Emily had no clue what was really going on.”_

**_“ Doesn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing as hell…at least to me.”_** York’s ears flushed hot as he remembered the way Zach teased him the night before as they entered the hotel, drawling _“Eeeeeemiiiiiilyyyy”_ in a super syrupy “voice” after York filled him in on the details of their meeting. **_“ Honestly, Zach, I want to try and appear at least appear a little cool in front of an attractive woman or man once in awhile.”_**

****

_“ York. You know I love you and that you’re my favorite person in the world, but that will never. Ever. Happen. Just embrace your dork already.”_ It was Zach’s turn to guffaw at York’s grumbling as he put on his suit coat and refolded the collar. _“ By the way, what are you wearing today? You want to make a good impression on the locals, after all.”_

**_“ The Songkran one.”_ **

****

_“…you mean the one with the red background and the really big white flowers plastered all over it.”_

**_“ Yes. Is there an issue?”_ **

****

_“ York, that suit is gaudy and looks like it’s made of couch upholstery.”_

**_“ What’s the matter with that? I find that furniture has some of the most unique patterns. I’m surprised they’re not used more in mainstream fashion. Plus, it’s a very ‘happy’ suit, which is an emotion the locals probably need a bit of.”_ **

****

_“Well…I…”_ Zach faltered and sighed in defeat. _“You know what, York? The suit fits you to a T. Go for it. Fuck ‘em if they don’t like it.”_

_“ **Why would anyone not like it?”**_

****

_“…I can’t possibly fathom. You know how people are—they think jeggings are a reasonable fashion choice.”_

**_“ Ugh! Don’t make me shudder like that so early in the morning!”_ **

****

Zach’s mirthful laugh—which York always imagined drinking warm milk would sound like—made the special agent smile warmly. With one last check in the mirror (seriously, why would anyone not like this suit? Inconceivable!), the agent exited the room and went in search of the main dining room for breakfast, whistling all the while.

 

* * *

 

 The dining room of the Great Deer Yard Hotel was…well, for a lack of a better word, _immense._ When York entered the room through a set of double-doors, he was awe-struck by the grandeur of the small-town establishment. There was an unused food buffet and automatic coffee machine in an alcove to his right, and the rest of the room was occupied by long, rectangular tables, all of which—including the unused tables with chairs stacked on top—were spread with a crisp, white, immaculate linen tablecloth. A grand piano was placed in the right corner of the rear wall—which itself was a pure glass affair revealing not only the breathtaking view, but also an expansive patio crafted from oak planks—and the table that agent would obviously be using was situated in front of the window-wall and set for two—one person on each end.

 

“ Good morning, Agent Morgan! Your breakfast is ready for you!”

 

York—who had been busy admiring the architecture of the dining hall—turned to the right to see a stooped Asian lady in her seventies or eighties step out of the kitchenette, rolling up the sleeves of her grandmotherly grey dress and flashing him a beauty-queen smile. The black-haired man had to admit that he was extremely impressed at how gracefully she had aged outside of her apparent arthritis; her salt-pepper hair was pulled back in a neat bun, her soft skin was wrinkled in a way that depicted wisdom rather than decay, and the black eyes behind the thin, wire-framed glasses were as sparkling as they must have been in her twenties. He could only hope he looked that dignified as time went on.

 

“ Thank you very much, miss…?”

 

The old woman waved a hand dismissively. “ Please, Agent Morgan, just Polly is fine—Polly Oxford. I’m the owner of this hotel.”

 

“ Well, thank you, Polly. I’m starving, and something smells awfully tasty.”

 

Polly’s grin grew even wider, as impossible as it seemed. “ Well, you just take a seat, then, and I’ll bring breakfast out for the both of us.”

 

A few minutes later, York found himself eating the best pancakes he had ever tasted in his life, and Polly was busy picking at her food while chatting nonstop. As hard as it was for York to hear her at the other end of the table, he was able to pick out the majority of what she was saying, which was far from unpleasant.

 

“ I actually met your brother around…oh…thirty minutes ago? He was apparently out on the docks with that nice deputy who tends bar at the Galaxy of Terror for his little sister—she owns the club, you know—and they stopped in to check on your reservation before heading over to the police station. Zach’s his name, right?” At York’s nod, she pressed onward, waving a piece of sausage speared on her fork as she narrated. “ He’s such a nice boy, reminds me of my youngest, in fact. He lives in Omaha with his wife and their kids, but he has such a sweet smile and kind heart, just like your twin. They helped me move some food shipment boxes around, even though it probably made them late, and he even asked permission to draw the hotel, oh, how flattering! Actually, I probably shouldn’t mention this, but he seemed to have eyes for Deputy MacLaine, who didn’t seem himself as flustered around your brother as he is around most people. That boy has always been as timid as a newborn colt.”

 

York grinned as Zach, listening in on the conversation, groaned and groused in the White Room. “ Really now?! That doesn’t surprise me!”

 

Polly giggled in delight. “ Well, I just hope your brother isn’t some sort of heartbreaker, because Thomas has such a tender soul, so very much like his father’s…you know, many of the people in town that know him have worried about him finding a man, given how small the community is, so it’s not entirely shocking that it took a visitor from the big city to get the wheels turning!”

 

The special agent’s abdominal muscles were aching in protest at having to hold in so much laughter. “ I’ll be sure to give Zach a heads up when I see him!”

 

_“ You revel in my suffering, don’t you?”_

**_“ Oh, calm down, Zach—she means well. Plus, it’s good to know that you have to tread gently, now isn’t it? Wouldn’t want to blow your chances.”_ **

****

_“ We. Are just. Friends. EXACTLY like you and Emily, correct?”_

York sucked in a breath, knowing he couldn’t make a comeback without being forced to admit his (rather obvious to Zach) attraction to Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt, so he decided to let Zach have the last word and focused his attention on Polly’s monologue, his white-haired twin strutting in victory all the while.

 

“ Oh my, Agent Morgan, you’re very flushed! Is something the matter with the food? I knew I shouldn’t have added that much pepper—“

 

“ Oh, no, don’t worry! The food is delicious, actually!” To prove his sincerity, York jammed a forkful of flapjacks into his mouth, swallowed after a good moment of chewing, and licked his lips with relish. “ These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had! My compliments to the chef!”

 

Polly clapped her hands, beaming like a microscopic sun. “ Why thank you, Agent Morgan! I’m hoping that my cooking will bring in repeat guests. Honestly, it’s been a while since anyone has stayed here.”

 

York shot a surreptitious glance at the unused tables. “ I couldn’t help but notice. Aside from you, Zach, and me there seems to be no other guests or workers around.”

 

The elderly hotel owner squinted at the agent and cupped a hand to her ear. “ What’s that?” She pointed towards the salt and pepper shakers set smack dab in the middle of the table. “ The salt’s in that white shaker over there.”

 

“ Thank you!  I was wondering if there were any other guests or workers here!!” York had a feeling his voice was going to be shot by the time breakfast was over.

 

“ Oh, no, no one else. My husband and I used to run this place, but he’s in heaven now.”

 

“ You’ve been working here alone since then! Must be hard by yourself!!”

 

“ Oh my, we’re all out of pepper. I’m very sorry.”

 

“ IT MUST BE DIFFICULT TO RUN A HOTEL BY YOURSELF.” “ ** _Zach, stop cackling; you’re not making her any easier to understand.”_**

****

Polly paused in taking a bite of scrambled eggs to shrug. “ Well, yes, I suppose. I could just live on my pension, but I have to admit that running a hotel is kind of like a hobby of mine. It keeps me young and spritely.”

 

“ That’s nice!” York didn’t think he could take a moment more of screaming and straining to hear. “ Polly, it might help to hear you better if you could sit a little closer!” He leaned over his plate and gesticulated to his side of the table.

 

York didn’t expect Polly to start laughing bashfully at his words—oh no, he didn’t inadvertently insult her hearing, did he? Zach often pointed out that indirect insults were both his forte and the farthest from his normal intentions. “ Oh my, Agent Morgan, you’re embarrassing me! So early in the day too! I think I’m a little too old for you.” Her loose black strands of hair further highlighted her tomato-red cheeks. “ And I still love my departed husband, my God rest his soul. I appreciate the invitation but I’m perfectly fine over here!”

 

The seeds of a migraine were beginning to sprout in York’s temples, and Zach’s chortling having escalated into full bore, knee-slapping, chest-heaving laughter didn’t help matters. “ POLLY. I CAN HARDLY HEAR YOU FROM ALL THE WAY OVER HERE.”

 

“ You’re exaggerating; this is fine! It won’t do to be all clumped together with such a large table and cafeteria. We have to make use of all this space!”

 

Polly promptly returned her attention to her hashbrowns, and York—conceding defeat—groaned and slumped over his plate, doing his damnedest to banish his fledgling headache by the power of will alone. Meanwhile, in the White Room, Zach’s laughter had yet to cease, and if he was this amused in real life, the black-haired twin was concerned about the possibility of him hyperventilating and/or scaring the wits out of Deputy MacLaine.

 

**_“ Zach, dying in laughter over an older woman’s hearing loss would not be a very flattering way to go.”_ **

****

_“ I’m sorry….I just…pfffff…it’s just so priceless…fuck, what did she think you meant?!”_

**_“ I really, really, REALLY don’t want to know. She seems like a kind, lovely woman when she can hear you, but right now I just want to escape from Conversation Hell as soon as humanly possible.”_ **

****

_“ Stay strong, York; Polly has obviously lived here for quite awhile, so see if you can find out more about the town before you leave. We just parked at the police station, and we’re a bit earlier than the others, so I’ll let you know when you have to pick up the pace.”_

**_“ Must I? Can’t you just ask Thomas?”_ **

****

_“ He’s kind of busy opening the department and getting out Anna’s file. Just tough it out, super agent.”_

**_“ Fine, fine. Only for you, Zach. Only for you.”_ **

****

“—gan! Agent Morgan!”

 

York snapped out of his “trance” and turned his attention to Polly. “ I’m sorry, I was zoning out there for a second!”

 

“ It sure looked like it! Your face told me you were heading past Jupiter!” The little old lady, fortunately, did not appear too put out. In fact, she looked oddly concerned. For a moment York was afraid she was going to make well-meaning-yet-condescending-and-pitying-comment-over-his-mental-health-number-one-billion-and-five, yet her next words banished that notion completely, loosening the knots in his stomach before they could tighten.

 

“ I was just asking if you and your brother were in some sort of accident recently. You have those gashes on your face, and Mr. Zach…” She shuddered. “ I tend to be the curious type, but I almost don’t want to find out what exactly happened to him.”

 

“ Well, Zach’s happened a long time ago and he doesn’t like talking about it!” That was the understatement of the century; just one mention of the scar was enough to make Zach’s body wilt and his stunning, crowd-winning grin morph into a grimace. “ As for mine, well, let’s just say I had some trouble on the last case we were working on! I’m sure it’ll be fine—after all, it’s just a flesh wound!”

 

Polly clapped her hands to her mouth, seemingly scandalized by his nonchalance. “ Well, there’s no need for you two to play tough guys here! I want you both to relax and enjoy your stay in Greenvale as much as you can! I’ve even prepared a special room for the both of you; a famous rock star once slept there, you know. Although, if you would prefer a room with two separate beds—“

 

“ Don’t worry about it!” The special agent was swift to cut her off. “ Zach actually prefers sleeping on couches, don’t ask me why!” York was well aware that people would stop buying into that story sooner or later, but while both he and Zach were well beyond sick and tired of incest rumors, neither Morgan would change their sleeping arrangements for all the tea in China (or coffee in Europe). “ I’m sure Zach will be as honored as I am when I tell him!”

 

“ Oh my, I’m so glad you two are happy! Please, if you need anything else, just let me know!”

 

“ Actually…” York grabbed his cigarette carton and lighter, anticipating yet another endurance race for his eardrums and the concurrent need for as much mental acuity as possible. “ Zach and I are both curious about the town—you know, its history, the shops, that sort of thing.”

 

* * *

 

 For the next fifteen minutes, York nursed a cigarette as he listened as intently as possible to what he could hear of Polly’s town history lesson, transmitting the relevant pieces of information to Zach before filing them away for future reference. According to Polly, an entrepreneur named Moyer Stewart founded Greenvale in the 1920s, and his reclusive son currently lived in bilious mansion on the outskirts of the forest park. The first building Moyer Stewart constructed was a lumber mill, which thrived well into the seventies and drew in slews of immigrants and transients, all lured in by the possibility of sifting their own American Dream out of the sawdust. Unfortunately, due to Moyer’s death in the eighties, the rampant embezzlement wrought by the mill executives in his wake, and a mob of environmental activists who protested day and night, the lumber mill declared bankruptcy and was abandoned in the mid-nineties. Without the life-blood that had sustained the town since its genesis, Greenvale was left with tourism alone as a steady source of income, and began to wither from the tips inward. At the height of its prosperity, the town had a population of 6,000, and now a little less than 600 people remained. Despite the village’s slow starvation, many businesses were still able to turn in an ample profit, including a convenience store, an art gallery, a gun shop, and a world-famous diner. The clock tower that was constructed in the 1950s was also fairly popular amongst architecture aficionados across America (and York made a mental note to swing by when he had the chance); it was connected to the theater/community center via an underground tunnel, and rung every half hour with a “lovely” chime.

 

As unexpectedly interesting as the conversation was, eventually Polly petered out and stood, snatching up their empty breakfast plates to whisk away to the kitchen. “ Look at me, blabbing my head off without a care in the world, most likely making you late in the process! You have a murder case to solve, after all! I’ll just bring your coffee right out and you can be on your way.”

 

 _Ahhhh…the most important moment of the day—and perhaps the investigation—is upon us._ York “tapped” Zach to summon his undivided attention and grabbed Polly’s arm before she could slip past. “ Just a pitcher of milk with my coffee, please, full fat. Also, make it the best coffee you have, if you can—I’m veeeeeery particular about my coffee.”

 

“ Right away, Agent Morgan!” Polly nodded gravely and made a beeline for the kitchen proper behind the kitchenette. A few minutes later she returned, bearing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a pitcher of creamy milk in the other, both of which she placed in front of the peculiar FBI agent. Her final task completed, the little old lady skittered away to do the dishes, leaving York to inhale the velvety richness of the dark roast and shiver in delight and anticipation.

 

**_“ You ready?”_ **

****

_“ Absolutely!”_

Zach helped to keep York’s hand steady as he picked up the pitcher of milk and deftly poured a steady stream into the coffee mug, keeping a trained eye on the whitening beverage so as to ensure the utmost quality of flavor and universal sensitivity. Once the desired amount of milk had been added, the agent set down the pitcher and picked up the mug, Zach’s presence shooting sparkly pulses to the tips of York’s fingers as they both gripped the handle and gazed at the swirling patterns of milk on the coffee’s surface, hoping to divine the secrets that lay within.

 

_“ Look, there, do you see it?”_

**_“ Yeah, the letters, right? Two of them!”_ **

****

_“ Pretty clear to me!”_

For reasons the two could not properly explain, York and Zach had the unique ability of being able to “see” the future in a cup of coffee with juuuuuust the right amount of milk. They had discovered this ability through pure happenstance in their late teens (a raucous tale involving chicken wire and sunglasses that they one day hoped to share with any future significant others), and not only did they put their paranormal talents to good use in their everyday lives, but their coffee divinations had come into play during every single case they had ever worked in the FBI. To say the morning cup of coffee was akin to a holy rite for the two of them was an absolute understatement; it was an inherently vital procedure, not only to their personal lives, but for the success of their investigations as well. Ever since discovering the beverage’s idiosyncratic side effect, there had never been a day when the coffee didn’t reveal a facet of the relevant future, and there had never been a fortune that was false or misdirecting.

 

And there it was! As York often said, “the coffee never fails!”, because floating in the gradients of lightening black were two prominent, melting white letters, swirling around the margins of the cup and exposing the truth to those who could understand.

 

_“ There it is—“_

**_“ Clear as a crisp, spring morning—!”_ **

****

In the confines of the white room, two twin “brothers” grinned at each other, clasping their hands together (sealing their fates) and chanting in unison.

 

**“ F.K.! In the coffee!”**

 

* * *

 

To be continued…


	5. Of Squirrel Keys and Beauty Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which York, Zach, Emily, and Thomas team up to solve their biggest mystery to date: the case of the missing Southern Flying Squirrel key chain. Once that problem is solved, the details of Anna Graham's murder are finally revealed, along with a heaping helping of delicious biscuits and commentary on York's manners (or lack thereof). The calm before the storm is beginning to wane...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: homophobia, a graphic description of murder, and hinted physical abuse at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 

“ How about this one? I found it in the refrigerator in the kitchen.” Zach dangled a golden key attached to a silver keychain in the shape of a squirrel in front of Thomas’ face, who scrutinized it for a second before shaking his head.

 

“ Nope, that’s a gray squirrel. There actually isn’t really anything too special about gray squirrels, save the fact that they’re common in the US, England, and Canada.”

 

“ Well, that’s another strike, but at least we’re putting your key ring back together. “ The white-haired man sighed and set the key in a growing pile of "rejected" squirrel keys on Thomas’ desk, who himself was slumped in his desk chair (which was topped with a cute, hand-sewn cushion that Zach was childishly tempted to snatch up and snuggle), worry lines lengthening every second.

 

“ The Sheriff is going to kill me, I just know it—“

 

“ Don’t say that, Thomas; we’ll find the key before he gets here, and even if we don’t, I’m sure he’ll believe you if I back you up.”

 

“ I thought you said that you two didn’t get along yesterday.”

 

“ I’m an official assistant to an FBI Special Agent—if he dislikes my attitude, then at least he can put faith in my words.”

 

When Zach and Thomas had arrived at the still-silent sheriff’s office a half an hour ago, the mood was far lighter and almost jovial, considering the circumstances that brought them to the building in the first place. Zach and Thomas had chatted amicably while the artist assisted the deputy in turning on the lights, readjusting the thermostat, and brewing the first of many pots of coffee. After those tasks had been completed, Thomas sent Zach to retrieve his key ring from his desk while he cobbled a plate of danishes together, intending to pull out Anna’s file from its secure filing cabinet as soon as he finished opening the department for the day. When Zach returned two minutes later, he carried with him an empty key ring, which triggered immediate panic and distress in the young deputy.

 

“ Oh no, not _today_ of all days! What am I going to do?? The Sheriff is going to be _so_ mad—!“

 

“ Hey, take it easy!” Zach snatched the plate of pastries out of Thomas’ fiercely quivering hands and set it on the kitchen counter. “ What are you talking about?”

 

“ Well…” The young deputy began to wring his hands into whiteness, and Zach had to muster every ounce of his willpower to keep from taking them in his own and soothing the knuckles with his thumbs. “ Sometimes the other officers—especially the male ones—like to play pranks on me.”

 

“ Pranks? Why?”

 

“ Because, well, I’m…I’m different than them, and they like to poke fun at that sort of thing.”

 

Zach’s visage darkened. “ So, in other words, they like jerking your chain because you’re gay and have some traditionally feminine mannerisms.”

 

Thomas tilted his flushed face towards his feet. “…yeah, pretty much.”

 

“ Of _course._ ” Given the severely fucked-up nature of America’s society, it wasn’t surprising that Thomas was sometimes the brunt of homophobic jokes, especially given his dainty walk and the concomitant, slightly sensual sway of his hips. Just because such behavior was foreseeable, however, didn’t make Zach feel any less livid towards its perpetrators. “ So, I’m guessing that a whole bunch of keys used to be on this ring, but your ‘mature’ coworkers pilfered them for their own amusement.”

 

“ Yes, exactly; this is the third time it’s happened this month.” Thomas’ expression was neigh identical to that of a deer staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle. “ They usually just throw them around the building in various places, but it always takes me _forever_ to find, and the sheriff never fully believes me when I say it’s not my fault—we don’t have security cameras in the department, so he probably just thinks I’m trying to pin my flub-ups on others, since I can be a bit of a space case at times.”

 

“ I don’t see you as the type of person who would pass the buck.”

 

“ I guess you never know with people, I suppose.” Thomas fingered the key ring and pleadingly gazed at Zach. “ I know you’re our guest, and finding these keys is my responsibility, but—“

 

Zach didn’t even blink. “ Of course I’ll help you find the keys, Thomas. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you be punished in place of a bunch of shmucks. Should I just start checking the rooms?”

 

The brown-haired man’s face began to shine with tentative optimism. “ Be my guest! Right now our priority is tracking down the key to the filing cabinet; I can gather the others on my own time. It has a Southern Flying Squirrel attached to it.”

 

“ A what now?”

 

Thomas, it turned out, was a bit of a squirrel fanatic (well, as close to a “squirrel fanatic” as one could get, Zach supposed)—so much so that he organized the department’s keys by means of a “squirrel identification system”. Instead of key chains with casually comprehensible tags, Thomas differentiated each key with a different species of squirrel, making the Sheriff’s Assistant the unofficial gatekeeper of the station while simultaneously fostering a great deal of coffee-cup flinging frustration in his fellow officers (which was the primary reason said keys were a frequent target of vandalism). As a result, whenever Zach would find a key and bring it back to Thomas for inspection, he would get a little factoid about the corresponding squirrel. Half an hour later, and Zach had not only accumulated an ample pile of keys for the flustered deputy, but also enough random tidbits about squirrel-kind to fill an encyclopedia page on the fuzzy little critters.

 

One squirrel that had not yet been found, unfortunately, was the Southern Flying Squirrel.

 

“ Do you have any idea where the other keys may be?” The white-haired artist’s eyes scanned over the substantive collection of squirrels they had gathered so far: Grey Squirrels, Siberian Flying Squirrels, Siberian Chipmunks ( **“ Is that even a squirrel?”** York wondered), Sugar Gliders… “ We’ve checked the storeroom, the locker room, the kitchen…”

 

Thomas mulled his bottom lip. “ Maybe downstairs? They usually scatter them around upstairs, but they could have expanded to the basement.”

 

“ What’s downstairs?”

 

Emily’s voice suddenly cut in as the woman in question entered the room. “ Oh, it’s mainly just a few storage rooms, our shooting range, a loading dock, and the jail. We don’t get much regular use out of it, though, except as a drunk tank. Maybe a few shoplifters, truants, and bar fighters once in awhile…” The blonde deputy squeaked out a yawn before walking over to her own desk, plopping down on her chair, and wrapping her shoulders in the paisley blanket that was neatly draped across the backrest. “ You should really turn up the thermostat once in awhile, Thomas. I freeze my ass off in the mornings…”

 

“ Sorry, Emily, but you know how George gets when it’s too hot for him.” Thomas pulled off his glasses and rubbed them with a cleaning cloth he had in his pocket. “ When did you get in, by the way?”

 

“ Oh, just a few minutes ago, actually, but I wanted to check the oil in the Tough Chap before I forgot again. You feeling any better, Zach?”

 

Zach smiled softly at the young woman—remembering York’s unconventional tenderness towards her and the gentleness she displayed towards he himself on the bridge—and nodded. “ Much, Deputy Emily, thank you. York’s not here yet—took a wrong turn on January Way—but he should be here in a few minutes.”  

 

Emily chuckled. “ Yeah, our roads can be a bit convoluted for newcomers—you can get turned around easily if you don’t have a map and/or a competent sense of direction. Just as long as he’s here by the time George shows up; believe me, we do _not_ want a repeat of yesterday.”

 

Thomas gulped, recalling his current predicament. “ Oh, Emily, someone’s scattered my keys around again, and we still haven’t found the key to Anna’s filing cabinet, and George is really going to kill me this time, I just know it, and I still haven’t finished getting the food out for everyone, and I—“

 

“ Woooaahhh, Thomas. Slow down a little.” Emily stood up from her desk, realigned her blanket, and walked over to the two men. “ So those assholes screwed around with your keys _again?_ That’s the third time this month! And on all days…” The blonde woman groaned and turned to Zach. “ Where haven’t you all checked yet?”

 

The artist shrugged. “ Everywhere but the downstairs. You heard us talking about it when you walked in.”

 

“ Ahhh, I see.” The deputy sheriff gripped her right arm and mused for a few moments in silence. “ Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Thomas, you finish up getting everything ready and then lay low until we find the keys. Try to busy yourself somewhere that George won’t immediately check. Zach, you and I need to get downstairs and find those squirrels. George called me a few minutes ago to let me know he was running around a half an hour late, but I really don’t want to risk him blowing a gasket, so let’s get this done a.s.a.p. The other officers should start filing in soon, so they can keep Agent York entertained until we’re finished.”

 

“ O-o-okay, you’ve got it. Thank you so much, Emily, Zach.” Thomas threw up a hasty salute and beat feet towards the kitchen. Zach gave him a tiny wave as he departed, and then turned to face Emily, the two exchanging the small, knowing smile only witnessed between good friends.

 

“ So, Emily, shall we go squirrel hunting?”

 

* * *

 

By the time York arrived at the sheriff’s office and made his way downstairs, Emily was on her hands and knees under one of the stalls of the shooting gallery, hand wedged through the small crack underneath the foot stop, clutching desperately at a small silvery object that was _juuuuuuust_ out of reach. For the fifth time in five minutes, her fingertips just barely grazed cold metal, causing the woman to emit her fifth distressed gurgle.

 

“ Do you need any help, Emily?”

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Emily wrenched herself upward, head just a centimeter away from cracking itself on the flat gun rest, and yanked her hand out of the crack as if she had just touched acid. “ _Agent York,_ is scaring the crap out of me going to become a pastime of yours?”

 

“ My apologies, Emily.” York sounded infuriatingly nonplused by the whole thing. “ I didn’t know how else to get your attention. Would tapping you on the back have been better?”

 

Taking a few steadying breaths, Emily shook her head and scooted out of the stall, resisting the urge to slam herself backwards into the agent’s barely bent knees. “ No, I guess not, but you could have waited until I wasn’t in the middle of something!”

 

“ I’ll be more careful from now on. Promise.” Emily’s ire cooled at the apparent sincerity in York’s voice, the man himself dropping on his knees beside her, even though such an action would inevitably dirty the white flowers on the knees of his _utterly_ tawdry suit. Emily couldn’t keep herself from snorting. “ Something funny, Deputy Emily?”

 

“ Agent York…where on _Earth_ did you get that outfit?”

 

“ Oh, somewhere around. I can’t quite remember, really…probably in the past five years or so? I’m sure it’ll come back to me eventually.” York’s face was adorably scrunched, leaving the blonde woman torn between sniggering and cooing.

 

“ Well, at least you won’t have to worry about getting shot by any hunters around here! They could see you coming from miles away!” Before York could reply, Emily waved her hand dismissively, deciding to drop the (admittedly freaking hilarious, she’d have to snap a picture when she could) subject. “ Anyways, how did you know I was down here? Did Zach tell you?”

 

“ Um…yes. He sent me a text when I got here, catching me up on your epic quest.” York pointedly avoided Emily’s eyes as he took off his suit jacket and fumbled around with his tie pin.

 

It wasn’t a _complete_ and utter lie. Zach did let him know that he and Emily were both down in the basement, that he himself was browsing though the storage rooms while she was scouring the shooting gallery, and that York should check on Emily first because he could actually hear her growling in frustration. The only thing he was lying about was the method by which this information was broadcast. It wasn’t like he could inform her, after all, that he and Zach maintained a 24/7 telepathic conversation that only ceased whenever one of them entered REM sleep. Thank God text messaging was as silent, silent, and widespread enough to use as an “excuse” for what Zach had dubbed their “perception iCloud”, otherwise the Morgans would be getting _far_ more strange looks _far_ more often.

 

Emily, at least, seemed to buy it easily enough. “ Well, at least I don’t have to explain why I’m sliding around on the floor.” Her blue eyes darted towards the stall. “ I don’t suppose you have a paperclip or Swiss Army Knife or anything of the like? I think the key to Anna’s filing cabinet slid under the foot stop, but I just can’t seem to reach it.”

 

“ I can do you one better, Emily.” York successfully removed his tie pin, laid his coat on the gun rest, and nudged Emily to the side. “ Here, let me take over—I have quite a bit of experience fishing evidence out of tight spaces.”

 

“ Wouldn’t surprise me, you being a special agent and all.” Emily was more than happy to have a break, adjusting herself to sit cross-legged on the ground, and amused herself by hand combing her hair and watching Agent York wriggle around like a worm on the floor. “ So, did you make it here alright, outside of getting turned around on January?”

 

“ How did you…oh, Zach, of course.” York’s voice took on a faintly resonant quality in the manmade enclosure. “ Oh, it was a lovely drive, don’t worry. I didn’t even get too bothered when I got lost—it gave me a chance to see more of the town. It really is beautiful here, that’s for sure, although all of the empty buildings on the outskirts were mildly unsettling.”

 

“ I know the feeling. Let’s just say that without our tourism industry, we’d all have to close our doors.” Emily ran her fingers through her hair one last time and wiped them on her pants. “ I guess you don’t see anything like this in the city, do you?”

 

“ No, not really. Don’t get me wrong, D.C. is breathtaking in its own way, but there’s just something about the unadulterated wilderness…oh! Speaking of the country, did you know that George left the key to the cop car just _sitting_ on the hood? It must have been there all night, yet not _one_ person stole the car.  I wish—ah, almost got it—wish that the rest of the country had values like that—aha! Got you!” The tie pin finally snagged the prodigal keychain, allowing the special agent to free the squirrel key from its cramped prison, and he wasted no time in snatching it up and crawling out of the stall. “ There you have it! Let’s hope this key is the one we’re looking for!”

 

Emily shook her head in bemusement as York pocketed the key and secured his tie.“ Values, huh…? I guess we do have some of those, although it probably helps that the hotel is way out in the boondocks, and you and Polly are probably the only ones staying there right now.”

 

The black-haired man shrugged, slipping on his coat. “ I suppose…although for a consummate city-boy like myself, it’s still mind blowing.” Without warning, the FBI Special Agent stood and made his way for the door, leaving Emily to haul herself up and bolt after him, reflecting on how poor her taste in men must really be if she was finding herself attracted to such an inconsiderate jackass.

 

* * *

 

 “ Yes! That’s it! The Southern Flying Squirrel!” Thomas’ relief was so immense that he had to restrain himself from grabbing the FBI agent in the world’s biggest bear hug, and simply settled on shaking the hand that held the key. “ Thank you soooooo much, Agent Mo—I mean, Agent York.”

 

York, who was usually very uncomfortable with physical contact from people he didn’t know well, couldn’t help but laugh at Thomas’ effusive gratitude. He could immediately see why Zach was smitten with the man; while his twin was prickly when tired, hellishly livid when riled, and far from the most cheerful person on the planet, he was normally as gentle and personable as one could be, and it was natural that he would be attracted to Thomas’ soft, introverted intelligence. It was all he could do to keep his mind on the case and away from matchmaking. “ It was no problem at all, Thomas. Consider it repayment for taking care of our car and bringing our stuff to the hotel last night.”

 

Thomas’s hand was as red as his face as he released York’s hand and took the key with him. “ Oh, no, it’s my pleasure—like I told Zach earlier, this is the first big investigation I’ve ever seen, so I want to do everything I can to help.”

 

“ I see.” York took a moment to lean against the file room wall as Thomas retreated towards one of three large, electronic, retractable cabinets in the room. “ Did you know the victim well?”

 

“ Well…no, not really. But it’s a small town, you see, and Anna was the kind of girl that you just couldn’t ignore. I mean, she was just so beautiful, as you’ll see as soon as I get these files out.” Thomas put the key in the electronic lock and paused, shoulders slumping and voice beginning to wobble. “ She also worked in the most popular restaurant in town—the A & G Diner—as a waitress, and she was there almost every day of the week, so everyone in town at least knew who she was. It’s just…she was so full of life and promise…it’s just too much…”

 

“ I can imagine it was quite a blow for everyone, in such a tight-knit little town like this.” York’s voice was both soft and sincere in equal measure. “ I completely understand you wanting to help, but it’s important to try to relax, alright? Cases like this are always tough if you’ve never seen one before, so pacing is crucial.”

 

“ Of-of course! Thank you, Agent York.” With renewed vigor, Thomas straightened his posture, turned to face York, and gave a chipper salute and smile. “ I’ll bring the files out in just a second, so you can head on over to the meeting room; I think Emily and Zach are already there.”

 

“ Alright, I’ll be waiting!” York spun on his heal and meandered towards the door, whistling and grinning all the while. **_“ Like you said, Zach—Thomas is definitely the kind and sensitive type. Completely at odds with “good” King George. It’s almost a good setting for a cartoon.”_**

****

_“ Forget about the cartoons and get over to the conference room! I’m trying to convince Emily that “The Matrix Reloaded” was actually a good movie and it looks like I’m going to need backup.”_

**_“ Say no more, kiddo. Be there in a flash.”_ **

****

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, the four law enforcement officers were clustered on uncomfortable metal folding chairs around an end of the long wooden table of the conference room. Sunlight was streaming in through the numerous thick-blinded windows, the old TV in the corner near the whiteboard spoke of a sixty percent chance of rain within the next six hours, and the edge of the table the four had commandeered was smothered with reams of paper and a plate of swiftly-vanishing danishes and biscuits, all handmade by Thomas himself.

 

“ My _God,_ what are you doing in law enforcement?” York’s praise was by far the most effusive, the man pausing only to wipe biscuit crumbs of his face with the paper napkin on his lap. “ I’ll have you know that I’m veeeeery particular about biscuits, and the balance of milk and butter you’ve achieved is just…oh my! You have _got_ to give me the recipe.”

 

Zach gave his brother a small smile as he primly picked apart a cherry danish. He had been “singing” Thomas’ praises to him during the entirety of breakfast (York should try his ham gravy on those biscuits sometime—neigh orgasmic bliss on one’s tongue) and was glad to see his taste buds vindicated in his cuisine obsessed other. “ Told you this morning, Thomas—your cooking is nothing short of a damn knock out. If a food critic ever got ahold of it, you’d be famous in the span of a day.”

 

Thomas—whose cheeks had been pink throughout York’s ebullient gushing—pinked perfectly at Zach’s words, squirming and fidgeting with his shirt-sleeves. “ Oh…I…really, it’s nothing. I’ve just always loved to cook, you know, ever since my mom first showed me around the kitchen.”

 

“ It shows, it really shows.” York swallowed his sixth biscuit and reached for number seven. “ If you ever decide to change careers and open a restaurant, I will gladly be your first investor!”

 

“ Actually,” Emily broke in, rolling her eyes at York’s unrepentant gluttony, even as she munched on her fifth danish, “he kind of does already. His sister, Carol, owns this bar-slash-upscale-restaurant called the Galaxy of Terror in town, and Thomas somehow manages to bartend and cook at nights while being here at six in the freaking morning. He has more stamina than the high school football team.”

 

The chef and bartender in question looked like he was ten seconds away from melting into the floor. “ Honestly, guys, maybe we should start focusing on Anna’s case before the sheriff shows up and gets annoyed…”

 

“ Thomas is right. Let’s just…get this whole business over with so we can stop wasting the FBI’s time and money.” At Emily’s resigned words, a shroud fell atop the shoulders of all those present. Thomas bit his lip, a thin film of tears beginning to coat his eyes as he pulled out a spiral notebook and a ballpoint pen emblazoned with Sugar Gliders. Zach’s body language and expression became prosaic all at once, and even the previously jovial Agent York straightened and stiffened, although he continued to butter a biscuit with more pep than necessary. Emily retook the temperature of the room, sighed, and shoved Anna’s file towards Agent York, who caught it and snapped it open.

 

“ The victim’s name is Anna Graham. Aged 18, she just graduated from high school this year, and her dream was to move to Seattle and become a model.” Emily hauled herself out of her chair and began pacing around the edge of the table. York and Zach, who had flipped to Anna’s prom portrait, had to admit that she would have easily achieved top model status if her life hadn’t been cut tragically short. The girl that stared at them was a young woman of average height, pristinely balanced proportions, and a knockout hourglass figure. Anna’s royal blue, strapless, skintight prom dress was a delightful contrast against her dark black skin, and her sable hair cascaded in glossy waves across her bare shoulders (York wondered whether such a hairstyle was natural or crafted with liberal amounts of relaxant). A heart-shaped face, dentist-certified grin, and luminous dark brown eyes painted the picture of a vivacious, jubilant woman on the cusp of adulthood, the rest of her life an endless buffet spread out before her, and all its delicious choices just tantalizingly out of reach.

 

_“ Poor thing—she probably had men crawling all over her like lice. Even if she had liked the attention, it would have surely been exhausting sometimes.”_

**_“ Perhaps one of those lice gave her a fatal itch.”_ **

****

Emily soldiered on, completely unaware of the ridiculous, indiscernible conversation between the two FBI personnel. “ Her mother’s name is Sallie Graham, nee Palmer, age 44. Her father, Nelson Graham, died in a lumber mill accident at the age of 36—Anna was nine at the time.” As Emily talked, Thomas’ squirrel pen skittered across the pages of the notebook, the Sheriff’s Assistant taking notes in a precise, pell-mell shorthand that would make any administrative assistant green with envy. “ Due to Greenvale’s low cost of living, Sallie was able to remain a full-time homemaker, and she and Anna were able to live comfortably off the insurance money from Nelson’s accident. When Anna started high school, she took a waitressing job at the A & G diner—working part-time during the school year and full-time in the summers. She was still employed at the time of her death and planned on working at the diner full-time until she had enough money saved up to move to Seattle. She and Sallie apparently got along well, and the two seemed to lead normal lives.”

 

York hummed in understanding as he swallowed a bite of buttered-and-huckleberry-jammed-biscuit. “ A normal life is exactly what a curious teenager _doesn’t_ want, especially in a small town like this.” “ ** _It’s starting to come together, Zach.”_** “Any close friends, romantic interests, or the like?”

 

Emily shrugged. “ According to her mother and friends, she had no reported love interests that they knew of. Anna was pretty popular, so she had a lot of close acquaintances, and none of them could think of anyone that would want to harm her. She only had one really close friend, though, a girl in her class named Becky Ames.”

 

Zach sucked in a breath and curled his hands into the tops of his thighs. _“ Fuck. That’s Ms. Ames.”_

 York gave his twin a wide-eyed _look_ as his hand shot out to hold one of Zach’s own under the table.  **_“ If that’s the case…then you may be able to earn her trust. Let’s work on other avenues until we figure out a game-plan to approach her.”_**

****

_“ Sounds good, I guess. Fuck me, I hate being put in these positions.”_

 

 Thomas—hearing Zach’s long-suffering sigh—glanced over to the distressed artist in consternation, even as he continued to feverishly transcribe Emily’s narration. The woman in question was staring out the window, completely oblivious to the muted drama unfolding behind her.  “ She’s been suffering from a nervous breakdown since Anna’s death and is holed up in her parent’s mansion out by the lake. We haven’t been able to get a legible word lengthwise out of her since learned the news.”

 

Zach pursed his lips, shuffled the papers in front of him, and cleared his throat. “ What do we have in terms of a timeline of events?”

 

It was Thomas’ turn to speak, the young deputy flipping back a few pages in his notebook and adjusting his glasses. “ According to eyewitness accounts...on the day of her death, Anna went to work at the A & G diner from 7am to 3pm, and arrived home at 3:10pm. She and Sallie made and ate dinner and watched HBO until 5:00, when Sallie left to go spend the night at a friend’s place, which was confirmed by said friend and other witnesses. One of the Graham’s next-door neighbors reported seeing the light in the house go out around 9pm, and heard what sounded like the front door slam at 9:30. That’s the last known report of activity at the Graham residence until her mother’s return home the next day at 10am. At 8am the following morning, the groundskeeper of the Greenvale Nature Preserve—Jim Green—was taking his two grandchildren out for their daily walk. Sometime between 8 and 8:20am, the three encountered…Anna’s…”

 

Thomas was beginning to look green in the gills, so Emily picked up from where he left off. “ Apparently, Issach and Isaiah—Jim’s grandchildren—were chasing a ladybug and ran out of sight. Jim was able to catch up with them a minute or so later, and he found them staring up at….Anna’s body.” The blonde deputy shivered and regretted not bringing her blanket with her. “ Jim immediately called us and made sure the crime scene remained undisturbed until George and I got there, which was…”

 

“ 9:10am.” Thomas’ voice was akin to tepid water. “ We got the call at 8:21am and you and George reported when you got there, which was approximately 9:10.”

 

“ Yes, thank you, Thomas—9:10am. Apparently George sent you two a picture of the crime scene?”

 

York and Zach nodded.

 

“ Okay, well, at least I don’t have to go into too much detail, then, but I’ll go over the basics for the posterity’s sake. Anna was strung up a good five feet or so above the ground, with her wrists secured with thorny brambles on the branches of an old tree. Her lower body was wrapped in a sheath of red velvet in a way that left the rest of her body exposed, save for her chest, which was covered by her hair. The only wound apparent to us at that time was a large cut—already clotted—that ran from the bottom of her sternum to the top of her pelvis. We immediately took her up to the hospital for an autopsy, which should be done sometime today. As of yet, we have no suspects.”

 

“ Did you look into the origin of the velvet?” York had begun rhythmically tapping his collarbone.

 

Emily turned to face the FBI agent and shook her head. “ That was one of first things we did, actually, but none of the stores carrying fabric in town reported selling any red velvet since January. We’re combing through their purchase records from farther back just to make sure.”

 

“ From the looks of it, this attack was meticulously pre-meditated.” Zach morosely swirled the dregs of his coffee in his pilfered ceramic mug. “ The killer probably made a trip out of town a while back to buy the velvet so they couldn’t be traced. It’s a good idea to look anyway, though.”

 

York’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “ It’s always good to cover all of your bases. Even the most brilliant of humans can make the most horrid mistakes.” After polishing off the rest of his biscuit, the FBI agent looked for a place to put out his cigarette, and—after seeing no other options available—stubbed it out on his empty plate. Emily and Thomas stared at the “defiled” plate in disbelief (and a bit of disgust in the blonde woman’s case).

 

“ City folk, huh?” Emily bent over to whisper in Thomas’ ear while York’s attention was diverted to putting the remaining three-fourths of his cigarette back in the pack. “ No, no, I take that back—not _all_ of them can be as bad as he is. Look at Zach, after all.”

 

“ It certainly would be nice to have an ash tray in the conference room, wouldn’t it? Especially since you know that an FBI agent who smoked would be coming in today.”

 

Emily and Thomas jerked as if electrocuted and slowly shifted to stare at Zach, whose chin was leaning on his steepled hands, mouth taught and heterochromic eyes burning holes through the both of them. Thomas cast his gaze towards the table apologetically while a beet-red Emily stood up straight and contemplated the best way to sink through the floorboards.

 

Fortunately for the mortified pair, the day was saved by George’s arrival, the stocky man entering via the door on the other side of the room and leaning against the doorframe with arms akimbo.

 

“ Agent Morgan, Mr. Morgan.” Sheriff Woodman’s face was stonier than Mount Rushmore. “ Dr. Johnson just called from the hospital—Anna’s autopsy is complete and her body is ready for viewing. If you all have been satisfactorily debriefed, we should get on the road before it starts to rain.”

 

“ An excellent idea, George! I think we’re all finished up here anyway.” York, pleasantly oblivious to the drama that he had inadvertently caused unfolding around him, stood up from the table and waited patiently for his twin to rise to his own feet. Once Zach had joined him, the two made their way towards the door, Zach daintily pinching York’s right suit cuff in one hand while clutching one of his backpack straps with the other. Emily also meandered over to join the autopsy foray, still looking as if she wanted to pop out of existence as soon as possible, leaving Thomas to sit at the table and glance around at the empty chairs, looking more than a little lost.

 

Noticing Thomas’ forlorn demeanor, George cleared his throat. “ Thomas, you stay behind, clean up, and reorganize these files. I also need you to contact the Ingrams and see if they can have the boys and Jim meet us at the crime scene. Might as well try to pack this all into one trip.”

 

Thomas went ramrod straight—almost as if he was a wilting plant and George had watered him and put him in the sun. “ Y-yes sir! Right away!” The young deputy saluted and looked as sunny as the two visiting FBI personnel had so far seen him.

 

York cocked his head. “ ** _Thomas isn’t coming with us? I wonder why…”_**

****

_“ Ah, I actually know the answer to this question. Thomas was telling me on the ride over that he was one of the officers in charge of taking Anna’s body to the morgue, and he had an…extremely unpleasant reaction.”_

**_“ An unpleasant reaction?”_ **

****

_“ He threw up and fainted.”_

**_“ Ah. That explains a lot.”_** York nodded his head in fond farewell to Thomas, slipping out of the door after George and Emily. Zach moved to exit the room, faltered, and turned back to Thomas, smiling softly.

 

“ Are all of your keys accounted for?”

 

Thomas jumped as if burned, before smiling in return at Zach, a quirk of the lips that was simultaneously sweet and strained. “ Yes. I did. Thank you so much for your help, Zach—I couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

The white-haired man rubbed the back of his head and shrugged. “ It was no problem at all—anything for the investigation, after all.”

 

Zach in no way meant the actual investigation. Thomas knew what (or “who” rather) he was really talking about, but pretended he didn’t. “ R-right. Anything for the investigation. Well, see you for lunch, maybe?”

 

“ Sure. See you for lunch. Goodbye, Thomas.”

 

“ Goodbye…Zach.” Thomas’ voice faded to a whisper as the artist left the conference room, shutting the door firmly behind him and leaving the deputy alone with crumb-coated office chairs and a paper and coffee-ring adorned table.

 

The second-degree burn on his right shoulder was blistering; the new flesh was triggering an inch he couldn’t scratch.

 

“ I’m so pathetic. What am I going to do?”

 

Triumphing over the urge to dig his nails into his wound (not only would it just increase the pain, but it would probably ooze through his shirt, and he didn’t need more people asking questions), Thomas instead ran his fingers through his hair, pulled on his tie, and began to clear away the dirty dishes.

 

It was going to be a long day.


	6. The Autopsy of Anna Graham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which York, Zach, George, and Emily head to the hospital to receive the findings of Anna's autopsy report. In between sharing writing secrets with a friendly nurse and playing chess with a city-born doctor, the Morgans reach a conclusion they were hoping for and dreading all at once. Could this be the one case that breaks the truth wide open?

“ So, Agent Morgan, does your brother go with you on all your cases?”

 

York turned the windshield wipers of the police car to the highest setting (the rain seemed to kick up fast and fierce in these parts) before glancing over at George in the shotgun seat, arms crossed and mouth pinched in annoyance. Emily and Zach sat in the backseat, the Deputy Sheriff watching the two men up front in languid interest, and his twin bunched up and grumbling at George having “stolen” his usual seat beside York. York also felt mildly disconcerted at the lack of Zach’s immediate presence at his side, but settled for being relieved that George was speaking to him again after he insisted on driving the group to the hospital himself, in order to “get to know the town better”—his “limited involvement” with the case notwithstanding.

 

“ Of course, George. Zach’s been with me every step of the way.” York had to squint to make out the road signs in the rain and as a result had to make a last second turn, its violence rocking everyone in the car and further wrinkling George’s mouth. “ It’s a little embarrassing to admit—but I just can’t go on cases without him. He’s vital to my investigative process.”

 

Zach smiled softly—discontent temporarily forgotten—and Emily leaned forward in her seat with piqued interest. “ So Zach’s been in the FBI as long as you?”

 

“ Yes, although given his…formerly poor health, he wasn’t able to take on field work with me until a few years ago. Going back to the way things were before is almost incomprehensible to us now. If I was forced to go on a mission alone, I suppose I would do it, but I’m sure my performance would suffer.”

 

“ That’s worryingly codependent.” The Sheriff grumbled. York smothered the urge to wrench the wheel and throw the other man into the door as he made yet another turn. These winding country roads were something else.

 

Emily, surprisingly enough, jumped to his and Zach’s defense. “ I don’t know, George; I find that _everyone_ is dependent on something or another. After all, you name your exercise equipment, and become a nightmare whenever you misplace your dumbbells.”

 

“ For the last time, their names are Arnold and Sylvester. I’ve had them since I was in high school.” George was bristling to the point where the FBI agent half expected his facial hair to stand on end. “ Alright, alright, I concede your point, Emily. Though, having your twin around _must_ be a drag on your love life, Agent Morgan.”

 

“ Zach can’t hinder what doesn’t exist.” York shrugged and did his best maintain a sangfroid tone in spite of his itching palms. “ Romantic relationships and I tend to be fleeting strangers. This may surprise you, but…well…I don’t get along with women very well, so to speak.” Zach’s practiced ears heard the subtle sprouts of tension in those words, and his soothing mental presence reached out and curled around York’s, crushing the agent’s snowball of unease before it could roll down the hill. “Codependent” was such a crude term for what the two shared.

 

“ That’s because you’re young, is all. You don’t know how to treat women yet.” George tipped his cowboy hat over his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “ You have to treat a lady carefully, like a thin, crystal wine glass…”

 

“ Oh God.” Emily groaned from behind her hands. Apparently this was not the first time George had gone into the gender politics behind dating.

 

“…you have to handle them delicately, gently, with utmost diligence. Otherwise…” The burly sheriff snapped his fingers, “they’ll shatter and cut you up, cause scars just like the one on your face.”

 

York took a hand off the wheel and touched the still-healing cut. How he longed to get out of this car and light up. “ Ah, this? Well, it’s true that a “problematic” woman gave me this scrape, but I think that _all_ people should be handled with care, whether they’re women, men, none of the above, or all of the above. We all have our glass bits and our stone bits and our paper bits and what not. After all, Deputy Emily’s no ‘thin crystal wine glass’, or else she wouldn’t be a capable Deputy Sheriff investigating a heinous crime.”

 

Emily wondered what her life was coming to if such a remark actually _flattered_ her. “ Why thank you, Agent York. He’s right, George. No one likes to be handled with kid gloves all the time. I mean, look at Thomas; a lot of people would just write him off as a shrinking violet, but you and I both know how steely he can be when the chips are down.”

 

“ True, true.” George’s voice was a limp as the hand he waved dismissively. “ You have to excuse me, Emily; I’m a bit older than you, and was brought up in more ‘traditional’ times. I am well aware that you and Thomas have more metal combined than all of Lysander’s scrapyard.” An eye peeked out from under his hat brim to scrutinize York. “ Well, whoever that problematic woman was, she sure got you good. Was it the same person that also got your brother? She must’ve had some nasty grudge over _him._ ”

 

York wanted George to like him (or at least tolerate him amicably)—he honestly did. However, the moment he heard Zach’s tiny gasp from the backseat and felt the concurrent dread vibrating through their mental link, the FBI agent’s vision flared red. “ Honestly, George, I question your law enforcement abilities if you can’t tell the difference between a new scar that was acquired just a few weeks ago and a scar that, from a cosmetic comparison, looks to be about as old as the one on your own face. Did a woman cause that one too?”

George sprung up like a rattlesnake going in for the kill. “ You have a **_lot_** of nerve, Agent Morgan—!!”

 

“ Stop it, both of you!” Emily interjected, placing a gentle hand on Zach’s shoulder while glaring at the two men up in front. “ York, I can understand why you’re upset, but George was just asking a question, and I’m sure he didn’t mean any offence. George, I get you were just asking a question, but things like scars can be _very_ personal, so don’t get snippy at York for having a kneejerk reaction. Can we just…change the subject? Please? Like, _now?_ ”

 

York nodded and relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “ Of course, Emily. My apologies, George—it’s just that Zach’s scar is something we don’t talk about in polite company. Please understand and respect that.”

 

George emitted a sigh worthy of Atlas himself. “ Let’s just…get to the hospital, review the autopsy results, and send the Morgans back to their crime-addled city lives so we can get on with things and stop sniping at each other.”

 

 _“ He may not be the actual monarch of Greenvale, but he’s definitely the king of asshats.”_ Zach groused from the backseat, rubbing his scar self-consciously in one hand while waving Emily off with his other one, face soft and thankful.

 

**_“ Zach, the man’s just stressed out. I highly, highly doubt that he’s seen anything like this in his years as sheriff. Hell, this may be the first murder he’s ever seen that hasn’t been on TV or the internet. And now the FBI is laying siege to his fortress? I’d be upset too.”_ **

****

_“ Well, there’s a big difference between you and George; you’re not a pretentious blowhard.”_

_“ **Zach, please.”**_

****

_“ Fine. Fine. I’ll play nice. Only for you.”_

**_“ As always, your consideration is greatly appreciated.”_** York turned into the driveway of Greenvale General Hospital: a spotless cement path flanked by immaculate topiaries, patches of tamed “wild” flowers, and—of course—the town’s requisite trees, which wound up a mildly steep hill and ended in the courtyard of an expansive hospital that seemed out of place in the miniscule community to which it served.

 

“ Wow…” Zach breathed, and York had to echo the sentiment, the closet architect in him pushing him to park the car and jump out as soon as possible to get a better look. The FBI agent and conscious driver in him won out, as it always did, calmly parking the car in the closest non-handicapped spot to the front doors.

 

Just as the black-haired man switched off the ignition, rain began to gush out of the gravid grey clouds, soaking the ground in approximately five seconds.

 

“ Great.” Emily grumbled. “ Remind me again, George, why we always forget our raincoats?”

 

“ You always ask me that, and my answer is always the same—if you’re so worried then just grab one on your way out the door. They’re in the storage room.”

 

“ Yeah, I know, I know. They’re just such a pain to haul around and I always forget …” Despite bracing herself as she exited the vehicle, the blonde deputy couldn’t suppress a juttering gasp as she was drenched in bastardly cold water, relieved that at least her shirt and bra were thick enough to avoid recreating a wet t-shirt contest in front of her boss and high-ranking government officials. She didn’t have to worry long, however, as a large grey umbrella was popped over her head, shielding her the torrent. She glanced over at Zach, who was holding it over their heads with the Mona Lisa smile she was beginning to associate with him, the backpack he pulled it from slung over his right shoulder.

 

“ Thank you, Zach. And…uh…” Emily coughed and lowered her voice. “ I’m sorry. About earlier. You know what I mean.”

 

The Mona Lisa smile softened along with his volume. “ My pleasure, Deputy Emily. And…it’s okay. I get your point, too. I’m just…naturally protective of him.”

 

“ Well, I get _your_ point, too. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still infuriating, and he could have asked first, but you were right about the…anticipation thing. You two are our guests, after all.”

 

“ Well, I can’t promise he’ll get any less infuriating, but I’ll do my best to remind him of social niceties. They’re just…not a very big concern of his.”

 

Emily immediately picked up on the uneasy way the white-haired man shifted at those words, and decided to change the subject. “ Well, I’ll do my best to remember that.” There was a story, there, but it was for another time; they had a job to do, after all.

 

“ What’re you two talking about?”

 

The two spun around to face George, who was weathering the storm with nonchalance and a raised eyebrow, obviously having said something to the two and not pleased that he was “ignored”. York, meanwhile, had seemingly materialized a black FBI poncho out of thin air, and was disregarding all of them in favor of devouring the city-scale hospital with his eyes.

 

“ Sorry, George, we were just talking about the town.” The one thing you could say one thing about Deputy Sheriff Emily Wyatt was that she was quick on her feet. “ What were you saying?”

 

George huffed. “ I was just saying that I don’t wear a raincoat because I actually like cold rains like this. I’m a storm person myself, you know. It imbues one with a briskness and sense of power you can usually only get from a waterfall or a polar bear plunge.”

 

Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes while Zach just looked confused.

 

“ I didn’t know you were a fan of _Dragonball Z,_ George.” He murmured.

 

George was staring at Zach as if he had ladybugs crawling out of his eyes, and opened his mouth to reprimand him on his stupidity and give him a lecture on energy flows and auras, when York broke in, finally joining the rest of the group.

 

“ What a spectacular structure! The architects of this town’s older buildings were really at the top of their game!” The FBI agent’s green eyes were shining with intellectual curiosity. “ This is a pretty big hospital for a town this size, though…I guess they wanted to be ready for a town-wide food poisoning?”

 

Emily shrugged. “ Nope. It’s just another leftover from Greenvale’s prosperous lumber days. Before the eighties, this hospital was actually a perfect size, though it’s kind of hard to imagine now, isn’t it?”

 

“ My mother always talked about how energetic this town used to be.” George tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “ ‘Almost like a gold rush’, she used to say.

 

York gave a curt nod. “ Impressive,” he declared, both mentally and physically.

 

“ Buuuuuut, the hotter the fever, the faster it cools.” Emily cut back in. “ Now there’s hardly anyone left to use this place…although I guess it would come in handy for an emergency, now that you mention it.”

 

“ It pains me to see my town lose so many citizens…” George shook his head before snapping it towards Agent York, face creasing beyond its average scarred contours. “ It’s beyond your understanding, I’m sure.”

 

 _“ Look at George.”_ Zach pinged. _“ He almost kind of looks physically wounded talking about this, doesn’t he?”_

York nodded, acknowledging both his brother and the lawman’s assertion, waving his right hand dismissively. “ Yes, I’m sorry to say that it is.”

 

“ Indeed. And that’s why this case is _our_ problem. There really isn’t any need for you two to get involved.”

 

With that, the Stetson-clad man strode past the group, his boots clomping wetly up the concrete stairs and through the electronic sliding doors. Emily took a moment to shrug and sigh before following her boss, Zach trotting closely behind her to keep her dry.

 

 _“ Methinks he doth protest too much.”_ The older twin commented dryly.

 

 ** _“ Hmm.”_** York’s reply was both an agreement and a “but”, and the FBI agent palsied in his contemplation as he watched Zach’s broader back and Emily’s strong yet slender frame pass through the doors in front of him. His “other half” was right, of course—George Woodman was the Miriam-Webster definition of “territorial”, and he didn’t blame Zach for suspecting that the other man may be hiding something. York, however, still suspected that the sheriff was mainly put-off by the government skulking around his normally serene and isolated fiefdom. Plus, that look on his face…that brief flash in his eyes and tightening of his jaw when he mentioned his mother…

 

Well, York reflected as he followed after his fellow investigators, he supposed he knew the signs of parent-child conflict intimately, seeing as it was one of the reasons he existed in the first place.

 

* * *

 

“ Hello, Fiona. We’re hear to see Ushah about Anna’s autopsy.”

 

The ginger, glasses-clad young receptionist at the expansive desk was not at all deterred by King George’s brusque tone, her smile remaining firmly in place as she waved at the approaching group of law enforcement personnel.

 

“ Hello there, Sheriff Woodman, Emily. Dr. Johnson’s waiting down in the morgue for you; he’s ready whenever you are!” She leaned slightly to the left to observe Agent York and Zach, the two standing slightly behind Emily and George as they shook water off their poncho and umbrella respectively before stashing them away in Zach’s backpack. “ And you two must be from the FBI! Welcome to Greenvale—sorry that it’s so wet, but you get used to it quickly.”

 

York, charmed by the young woman’s friendliness in a town that—so far—had mostly met him with hostility, was swift to walk over to her and flash his badge to deliver his signature greeting, with Zach standing slightly behind him and shaking his head in bemusement all the while.

 

“ Thank you, nurse. FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Please, just call me York; it’s what everyone calls me. This is my twin brother, Zach—he’s my personal assistant.”

 

Zach stepped next to York as the black-haired man shoved his badge back in his pocket. “ I’m surprised you knew who we were right away…then again, I guess he and I do stick out like a sore thumb wherever we go, Miss…?”

 

The nurse giggled, charmed and thrilled by the two ‘exciting’ new strangers. “ Fiona Marshall, but you can call me Fiona Freckles—that’s what everyone calls me that knows me.”

 

“ You embrace a trait that others would mock you for…that’s admirable.” York observed. George choked and Emily pressed a palm to her face.

 

Instead of being offended, Fiona shone even brighter than before. “ Yep! The students in nursing school would always call me “Freckly Fiona” and talk about how I have no soul, but they didn’t know that I’ve been calling myself Freckles since I was in elementary school—I’ve always enjoyed how unique my hair and skin make me look compared to my peers. Although, they did give me a killer idea for a Halloween costume.”

 

The FBI agent’s right eyebrow quirked. “ Oh?”

 

“ Yep! I just put in black contacts, pour fake blood on a spare uniform, and wear a cardboard sign that says ‘Will Nurse for Souls’.”

 

York couldn’t suppress his laughter, which he muffled with his hand in order to avoid disturbing the other workers and visitors, and even Zach and Emily had a good giggle. George wanted to laugh, too, but _someone_ had to be the adult of the group, so he channeled any good spirit into his downturned moustache.

 

Zach caught notice of the paperback novel in Fiona’s hands and leaned over the desk. “ What’re you reading, if I may ask? The cover art is interesting…”

 

Fiona seemed to flourish under the gazes of the two brothers, and gladly raised the book up so the others could clearly see the title and cover. “ It’s called _Liar’s House._ It’s the newest bestselling novel by Elizabeth Stephenson—you know, the mystery and crime writer!” The freckled nurse’s voice turned low and sinister as she slipped into the role of a storyteller. “ It’s set in the US—in a small, traditional, Northeastern town close to the Canadian border called Three Valleys….very peaceful, until the murder of a local girl shatters the whole town.”

 

“ Oh, I know that one!” Zach snapped his fingers and smiled at York. “ Didn’t Coop mention that Audrey was writing a book based on the Black Lodge case?”

 

“ Hey, you’re right! It came out sooner than I thought it would!” York grinned in realization, and Fiona stared, mouth gaping open.

 

“ Wait, you know Elizabeth Stevenson? And it’s based on a true story?”

 

“ Yep! Well, kind of.” Zach moved to stand next to York, and even Emily and George moved closer to the desk, the Deputy curious and the Sheriff curious in spite of his desire not to be. “ We have a friend from our division in the FBI—the Irregular Incidents Division—we call him Coop. He’s pretty much York’s best friend outside of me. Well, anyways, a few years ago he was called to this town to investigate a serial murder, and a whole lot of stuff went down. Basically, it’s all still classified, but he gave his friend Audrey permission to write a highly sensationalized account as long as it was approved by the FBI…and given that he’s her law enforcement advisor for all of her books, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. Audrey writes under a penname, of course; her family’s pretty notorious, so when she published her first book, she got on a random name generator and came up with Elizabeth Stevenson.”

 

“ Waaaaaait.” It was Emily’s turn to speak up. “ So, I mean, I know all the supernatural stuff isn’t true, but I have to ask: did the romance between the town sheriff, Joshua, and the FBI agent, Skylar, actually happen?” George glanced at her, and she shrugged. “ Fiona gave me an extra copy she got from Half-Price Books. She and a few of us get together at the A&G once a week for a book club.”

 

Zach winked at Emily. “ Sounds like fun. Anyways, yep, Harry and Cooper are real life ‘canon’. Even though Harry was with Jo—uh, Lindy—when Coop first came to town, they were basically falling for each other from their first meeting. After a whole bunch of other stuff happened—which Audrey left out of the book for lots of reasons we can’t talk about—they ended up getting married. York and Audrey were actually Coop’s best man and woman.”

 

“ Great wedding, by the way. Absolutely lovely town, and that _pie…_ ” York licked his lips at the memory. “ Honestly, Norma really does make the best in the world.”

 

It wasn’t hard to see that Emily and Fiona were salivating for more details, and George knew that if he didn’t get the investigation back on the road immediately, they’d be spending the next two hours gabbing about some supernatural gay romance suspense murder mystery _thing_ and not getting anything done. “ While I’m sure Agent Morgan and Zach would love to fill you ladies in on the details, I believe we have more _pressing_ matters to attend to.”

 

Emily smiled sheepishly at her boss, and Fiona’s flush was as intense as her freckles. “ Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to derail the investigation! Especially with Anna dead and all…”

 

“ Don’t worry, Fiona.” York was quick to cut in before the nurse could fluster herself into a tizzy. “ Books are written to entertain, and I’ll be sure to tell Coop just how much people are loving it when I get a chance. Besides, real life murders are decidedly different from sensationalized fictional murders based lightly on true events, so there’s no need to apologize.”

 

Zach snorted, and Fiona wondered if she was missing some sort of in-joke. Oh well, she was just glad the exciting city agents weren’t upset.

 

“ Thank you, Agent York, Mr. Zach.” She grinned and pointed down a nearby hallway. “ Go down the stairs and take the first right. The morgue should be unlocked, but if it’s not, just knock on it. If it takes him a while to answer, well, he’s probably in the middle of a chess game.”

 

* * *

 

 

True to Fiona’s word, the morgue’s electronic door lock was deactivated, and when they went inside the doctor was seated at a computer in the corner of the room where Anna’s body was laid out on the gurney for viewing, utterly absorbed in an online chess game. Instead of calling him to get his attention, York turned to the group and held a finger up to his lips, then casually walked behind the doctor’s chair and peered over his shoulder.

 

“ Move your King past the Rook so it’s right next to the Bishop on C4.”

 

Dr. Ushah Johnson whipped his head around to look up at the FBI agent, then frowned and glanced back at his screen, mentally mapping out the move. “ Are…are you sure?”

 

“ Yeah, trust me on this one.”

 

The young physician shrugged and made a few clicks with his mouse. “ Okay, done. Any other suggestions?”

 

York leaned closer to the computer screen and began tapping his collarbone. “ Let’s see…so they went with the Queen, huh? Just like I thought. Move your Knight right… there.” He pointed to a certain location on the screen.

 

“ What?! Are you sure?”

 

“ Trust me. If SaxaphoneStar78 does what I think they’re going to do—and I’m usually right about these things—they’ll use their Queen to capture it, which will leave you open to nab it in return with your inconspicuous Pawn right there.”

 

Ushah studied the board for a few seconds before his eyes widened. “ Oh! I think I see where you’re going with this!” He cracked his knuckles and grabbed the mouse once more. “ Okay SaxophoneStar78, let’s see how you like this one…”

 

While York was busy assisting Ushah with his game, Zach took the time to examine Anna’s body under the maneuverable overhead light, dimly away of how George and Emily were pointedly avoiding looking at the corpse for as long as possible. The young girl’s black skin had grown ashen with time, fluid draining, and slowed decay, and the expression of horror and betrayal that she had worn during her killing was set permanently in rigor. There were mascara-laced tear tracks stretching from her closed eyes to the bottoms of her cheeks.

 

_I’m so sorry, Anna. You must have been so scared…_

A loud whoop from the doctor broke his train of thought. “ My first victory in the Grandmaster ranking!” With that, Ushah put his monitor to sleep and stood, turning to formally greet the FBI agent standing behind him. “ I have to say you’re pretty good at this, Agent. We should play a game together sometime before you leave.”

 

“ I would enjoy that.” York smiled in greeting and pulled out his badge. “ FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Please, just call me York. That’s what everyone calls me.”

 

“ Very well, Agent York.” Ushah shook York’s hand warmly as soon as he’d put his badge back in his pocket and held it out in greeting. “ Dr. Ushah Johnson, the doctor in this hospital.” He nodded towards Zach. “ I’m assuming he’s related to you.”

 

“ My twin brother, Zach. He’s my assistant.” York and Zach smiled and nodded at each other. “ Are you a forensic practitioner?”

 

“ Let’s just say I’ve dealt with corpses before. I’m sure you know your own way around them as much as a chessboard.”

 

Now that Ushah was illuminated by more than the light of his monitor, Zach was able to get a good look at the doctor, who was a tall, young, attractive black man with thin, wire-framed glasses, close-shaved hair, and an equally trimmed “beard”. He’d obviously found time to change out of his fluid-stained scrubs and into business-casual and a long white coat, and a thin gold chain could be seen glinting around his neck. _Definitely not a Greenvale native. I wonder what brought him here…_

**_Slam!_ **

****

“ We don’t have much time!” George scowled, right palm stinging from its harsh impact with a metal cabinet. Even the normally unflappable York had stepped back, eyes imperceptibly widening at the outburst. “ We need those autopsy results! You can discuss your pastimes when we don’t have a murder to solve!”

 

With that, the Sheriff placed his hands on his hips and trudged over to examine Anna, Emily gulping and trailing after him a second leader, leaving York, Zach, and Ushah to share glances.

 

“ Well, looks like we have to get to work.” York half-whispered in Ushah’s ear. “ We’ve angered the monarch.”

 

* * *

 

“ From the onset of rigor mortis—that is, the stiffening of the muscles after death—I’ve estimated the time of Anna’s murder to be between 20:00 and 22:00.” Ushah paused to adjust his glasses before continuing to read from the clipboard in his hand. “ According to most statistics, that’s an early an unusual time for such a death to take place.”

 

From where he was sitting at the corner of the room, Zach studied York as he slowly circled the table, eyes fixed on Anna’s corpse as he tapped his collarbone in tempo with Ushah’s voice. George and Emily were standing a little off to the side, with the Deputy clutching her arm and staring morosely at the fallen girl and the Sheriff looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but that room. The white-haired man felt like walking over to comfort her, but decided against it, knowing that York was already feeling trapped and anxious just being in a small room with a few people. The more space he had to walk, think, and work, the better.

 

Plus, the closer he was, the more he’d pick up Zach’s anxiousness about the case, which was steadily rising by the second. It was almost a foregone conclusion at this point, but there was still that one bit of evidence they needed to find…

 

“ Note that there are two exterior wounds.” Ushah glanced down from his clipboard and gently nudged some of Anna’s hair to the side, revealing red, dark welts. “ Pressure marks around her neck, and a long cut running from the bottom of her sternum to the top of her pelvis. Blood marks on her right hand show that at the time of death, she was gripping a small, circular object…most likely a pendant or coin.” Beckoning Agent York over, he took Anna’s clenched right hand and gently pried it open with a thin metal rod, moving to the side so that York could get a good look at the round imprint in the center of her palm, with three faint lines in the center making a peace sign.

 

 ** _“Fascinating…”_** York remarked privately, gently laying Anna’s hand back down as soon as he’d gotten a good look at the emblem. **_“ I admit, we’ve never seen any peace imagery at any other RSP.”_**

****

_“ Do you have any idea yet as to what it means? I know I don’t have any clue.”_

**_“ Perhaps it was just a necklace that she wore. Or it could have been something she’d taken from the attacker at the time of her death. Either way, she must have been holding onto it a long time for it to leave permanent marks on her body.”_ **

“ Nothing like that was recovered at the scene.” Emily mused, looking down at her own hand. “ Do you think we could have missed something at the crime scene, George?”

 

“ I don’t know, Emily. We’ll have to be sure to canvas the area when we get back up there.”

 

Ushah cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “ Now, if you’d all like to continue…” He gestured to Anna’s head. “ Her skull was apparently fractured sometime after her death, given that there are no signs of inflammation or healing at the breaks. Nor are there any signs of struggle…whatever happened, she either couldn’t, or was too shocked to resist.“ The doctor glanced back at his clipboard and sighed sadly. “ Now, as for the cause of death, I had initially assumed it was due to strangulation, given the marks on her neck…but after finishing her autopsy, I determined that the strangulation marks occurred sometime before her death, and that the real COD was volumetric shock due to blood loss.”

 

Emily’s eyes popped in horror, and she took a few steps closer to the gurney. “ Wait…don’t tell me she was…you can’t be saying…”

 

“ She was cut up while she was still alive.” York nodded. Emily felt as if she was going to be sick and had to look away for a few moments to regain her bearings.

 

“ Utterly abominable.” George hissed through his teeth. “ Her killer must be one sick son of a bitch.”

 

 _“ For once, I agree with him.”_ Zach stood up and walked to the foot of the gurney as soon as he saw that York had finished pacing.

 

“ It gets worse.” Even Ushah sounded affected by what he was about to reveal. “ The saddest thing about it all is that, even if she had been able to call for help somehow, the killer made it so that she couldn’t say a word.”

 

“ What…what does that mean?” George sounded reluctant, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

 

A brief silence fell on the room as York and Zach debated on which one of them should break the news.

 

Finally, Zach sighed and stepped forward. “ It means, Sheriff Woodman, that the killer cut out Anna’s tongue.”

 

Emily gasped and violently shook her head.

 

“ That is correct. Actually, the most accurate term would be “chopped off”. It appears that the killer used some sort of blunt object that made a ragged cut. It would have been a long and painful process.” Seeing that York wanted to see for himself, Ushah moved from the head of the table to stand by Emily and George.

York took out a pocket flashlight, leaned over, and opened Anna’s mouth as gently as he could, holding it open with one hand as he popped the flashlight on and angled it inside with the other. “ What about toxicology results?”

 

“ Sadly, Anna’s stomach contents were lost when the killer cut open her abdomen, and her nails were clean, with no skin cells from her attacker. There was barely enough blood left in her body for a single sample, but we managed to get one tube, which is in the fridge with some saliva swabs; hopefully I’ll be able to ship them out for analysis in a few days.”

 

York hummed in approval, pulling Anna’s right lip corner away from her mouth in order to get a better view, and Ushah continued, making a few notes on his clipboard as he talked.

 

“ Though the toxicology results will take some time, I believe that Anna was drugged first, in order to faze her consciousness, before she was murdered. The killer most likely has a deep, traumatized past concerning women, and probably can’t converse with them normally.”

 

York clicked off the flashlight, placed it on the gurney with a sigh, and stood up straight, smiling wearily at Zach as he trotted over to stand next to him.

 

“ Cutting out the tongue suggests a very lonely individual—either that, or a truly hardcore sadist.” Ushah’s turned back left him unable to see Zach rolling his eyes. “ He must get off on watching women suffer, especially when they cannot answer back. He watched as the blood pumped from her body, as she gradually grew cold…a case in Seattle, in 1985—“

 

“ Ushah, please; limit your report to your findings as a doctor.” Zach, George, and Emily sighed in relief as York finally cut the physician off, causing him to jump and spin around as if shocked. “ I appreciate your willingness to help, but criminal profiling is _my_ job.”

 

He glanced at Zach and nodded.

 

“ You’re wrong, also. Anna died fully, deeply, painfully aware of what was happening to her.” The FBI once again began to tap his chest as he turned his attention to Emily. “ Tell me, Emily, what time did it stop raining the night Anna was murdered?”

 

“ Hmmm…” The blonde woman put a thumb to her lips and glanced at the ceiling. “ Just after I went to bed, right after the movie on TV ended, so around 1am?”

 

“ What movie was it?”

 

Emily chuckled and shook her head fondly. Even though she’d only known York for two days, she was far from surprised at his question. “ _An American Werewolf in London._ Directed by John Landis—“

 

“ –and made in 1981!” York face lip up and he snapped his fingers. “ So the rain stopped accompanied by the ending song ‘Blue Moon’. Thank you, Emily, that’s just what I needed to know.”

 

The FBI agent and Deputy Sheriff shared a quick, brief smile (which made George grumble and roll his eyes) before he turned his attention back to Anna.

 

“ From her lack of resistance…I’d say that Anna’s injuries happened very quickly. Unable to speak, she was then left to cry herself to death.” York reached into his pocket and thumbed the plastic body of his lighter. How he wished he could light one up, just for a moment. “ It’s all starting to come together, isn’t it Zach?”

 

Zach smiled and nodded, checking to make sure he wouldn’t be seen before gently taking York’s hand out of his pocket and lightly clutching it with his own, rubbing circles into its back with his thumb and feeling York relax ever so slightly.

 

“ The perpetrator stayed with her for at least two hours until it stopped raining…” In the White Room, York gave Zach a fond peck on the forehead in thanks, enjoying the grounding circling for a few seconds more before pulling his hand out of Zach’s reluctantly, not wanting George to see and make some sort of comment. “ At the estimated time of her death, it was still raining, yet you can see tear marks on her cheeks. That means she was killed under a roof somewhere.”

 

Emily, George, and Ushah inched closer to the table and peered down at Anna’s death mask.

 

“ You’re right…how could we have missed that?” George’s voice was almost awed, and Zach began to run victory laps around the White Room, much to York’s amusement.

 

“ She was then carried into the woods after it stopped raining.” York trailed off, tapping his collarbone in silence before speaking again. “ Ushah, Emily, George, tell me…are you all passionate when it comes to romantic love?”

 

The three of them balked at the question.

 

“ Am I…passionate?” Ushah squirmed and coughed. “ Well, uh, not particularly…but I am man enough, should the moment call for it.”

 

“ I can’t believe I’m answering this question…” George sighed in defeat and adjusted the brim of his hat. “ But assuming this has a point, I’m very passionate, yes. Especially when it comes to women.”

 

York nodded and glanced at Emily. “ What about you?”

 

“ Weeeeeeeell…” Emily pursed her lips a few times before answering. “ I have to say, I’m more passionate with women than men, given that most men are too macho for me to get into it. But if the right man comes along…” The woman’s face grew unbearably hot, and she quickly had to avert her gaze from her reluctant crush, staring at a medicine cabinet as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

 

“…I wouldn’t mind.”

 

Emily turned her head hard enough to give it a painful crick, gaping at York as he was once again bending over Anna, giving no indication that he had said anything at all. George and Ushah didn’t seem to hear York’s mumbled phrase, so did that mean she imagined it…?

 

She quickly glanced over at Zach, who was staring at his brother with an expression akin to wonder. _Oh my God, he did say that, didn’t he?_

“ Well, the reason I ask…” York’s voice was as level as it was before, and Emily forced herself to calm down before she did something stupid (like grabbing his arm, dragging outside, and asking him what he meant). “…is because the killer’s quite passionate. Much like you, George. He’s a passionate kisser…this was a ‘kiss of death’.”

 

Emily’s stomach grew cold as the implications hit home. “ Wait, you mean…”

 

It was Ushah’s turn to snap his fingers. “ The killer…bit off Anna’s tongue!”

 

George just barely managed to keep himself from gagging at the thought.

 

“ We’ll never get a dental print from a wound like this…but it’s still a big lead.” York opened Anna’s mouth yet again, and Zach quickly snatched the flashlight from the gurney and turned it on, aiming it in Anna’s mouth so that his twin would be able to snatch a pair of long tweezers from the instrument table with his free hand.

 

“ Agent Morgan, what are you--?!”

 

“ George, remember, I told you I had an interest in cases like this.” York silently directed Zach to aim the flashlight a little more to the right before reaching down Anna’s throat with the tweezers, making their three observers gag at the hideous squelching sound it produced.

 

**_“ Zach, do you see it? I think I see it!”_ **

****

_“ Angle it a little more to the right…there! The bright red thing! You got it!”_

Emily, Ushah, and George watched in amazement as York removed the tweezers and stood up straight, leaning over Anna’s body to see what, if anything, they uncovered.

 

Clutched tightly in metal pincers was a small, thin, oval-shaped, bright-red seed.

 

“ Jackpot, Zach! A shame, but our old-time all-American sightseeing tour has come to an end.” York placed the tweezers and seed gently on the instrument table before addressing Emily and George. “ This case is now under the jurisdiction of the FBI. I’m assuming command. I’ll need you to assist me with the investigation.”

 

It took all of Zach’s willpower to not laugh in triumph at the flabbergasted, affronted, infuriated look on George’s face. “ What in the _hell_ do you mean, Agent Morgan? I know I said I was passionate, but you can’t think I did this…?!”

 

“ That’s not why I’m assuming command, George; you’re a suspect just as much as every passionate person on Earth. Let me show you something.” York reached into his suit pocket, pulled out an evidence packet, and held it up to the light.

 

It was full of small, red seeds.

 

“ Are those…?” Emily gawked as York began pulling packet after packet of red seeds out of his pocket and throwing them on the edge of the gurney, almost as if he was a clown pulling handkerchiefs out of his sleeve. Once she thought he was done at eight, Zach reached into his backpack and pulled out a large Ziploc bag _full_ of smaller packets of seeds, setting it next to the first eight. How many seed samples did they have? Twenty? Thirty? _Forty?_

The blonde woman’s stomach sank. Just what had their little town gotten wrapped up in…?

 

“ There you go. Amazing, eh?” York gestured to the seeds on the gurney as the three locals stared in shock. “ I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but most of them are top secret.” He began to put the stray packets back in his pockets. “ George, Emily, we should be going. No need to stay here any longer.”

 

“ Okay…” George’s voice was surprisingly tame for just having had his control ripped away from him. “ I have to sign the release. Just give me a moment.”

 

“ Very well. I’ll go on ahead…I can’t take it any longer down here.” York was already pulling a cigarette and his lighter from his pocket as he quickly walked out the door, leaving three shocked citizens of Greenvale and his twin in his wake.

 

“ Well…” Zach shrugged and put the big evidence bag back in his backpack. “ Ushah, do you think you could bag up the seed for us?”

 

“ Uh?” The black man blinked as if waking from a dream. “ Yeah, of course. I’ll do it while George signs the release.”

 

“ Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you, Doctor.” Zach shouldered his bag and turned to Emily. “ York’s probably found an open, dark, empty room to smoke in, so would you like to come with me and wait for him in the lobby? I mean, unless you have to sign the release, too…”

 

“ Nope, just George.” She quickly looked at her boss for approval, which was given in the form of a short nod. “ Sure, I’ll go with you. I have a few things to ask, anyways, and I really want to get away from the smell of body preservers.”

 

Zach smiled knowingly at the endearing woman. “ Alright then, let’s go.”

 

As soon as they were out the door and out of earshot, Emily grabbed Zach’s arm and stopped him. “ Uh…listen, um, back in the room, when we were talking about the uh…passion thing…did York—“

 

“ Yes. He said that.”

 

“ Oh, um! Good! No, not good! I mean, good because, thank God I wasn’t hallucinating, but not good because, uh…” She glanced up and down the hallway, almost panicked, before sighing and slumping. “ Did…did he—“

 

“ Mean it? Yes, he did.” Zach cocked his head and studied the Deputy for a few seconds. “ Did you?”

 

“ I…” Emily choked on her own uvula and shook her head vehemently. “ It doesn’t matter, anyways. I just met him, and he’s infuriating, and we’re in the middle of a murder investigation, and it would be _really_ inappropriate…!”

 

“ But?”

 

“… _but.”_ Emily stared down at her shoes. “I mean…even if I did, it’s the worst timing in the world.

 

“ It may be,” Zach conceded, “ but bad timing doesn’t mean anything when it comes to humans and their lives.” He linked his free arm with Emily’s and began to lead them up the stairs. “ Come on, Deputy Wyatt, let’s go dish some dirt with Fiona."

* * *

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! Hopefully the chapters will come more regularly at this point. Also, I don't apologize for bringing Twin Peaks into this, and sincerely hope that you all are eager to see a prequel crossover, because GUESS WHAT??????


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